


Greater Than This

by NoHappyEnding



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8828575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoHappyEnding/pseuds/NoHappyEnding
Summary: Pianist Byun Baekhyun thinks that moving to this new college will be a nice fresh start to his otherwise mundane life—that is until he gets entangled with imaginary voices and phrases like kidnapping, obsession, Stockholm syndrome, and Park Chanyeol.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ah! There was so much more I had wanted to do with this fic! I had so many plans and ideas and scenes…ultimately this didn’t really turn out the way I had hoped, but that’s me. Just call me Prima Procrastinator Extraordinaire (I wrote something like half of this the day before the deadline hue hue). I stayed up until midnight to finish this. Literally. I finished at 11:59 pm.  
> I included a set of songs that sort of fit the mood of the story in order of significance.  
> This is also very sloppy—please excuse my lax writing. I rushed it and this is unedited.  
> Apologies to the prompter—I think this is darker than it was supposed to be, but thank you too! I have to admit it was fun to write! ^.^   
> Thank you as well to the hosts of this fic fest, and for putting up with my laziness.  
> Enjoy!

 

Music:

**Tag, You’re It,** _ Melanie Martinez _

**Requiem: Lacrimosa** ,  _ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart _

**I Found** ,  _ Amber Run _

**Floating/Sinking,** _ Peter Broderick _

  
  
  


Stockholm syndrome **noun** , _psychiatry_.

  1. an emotional attachment to a captor formed by a hostage as a result of continuous stress, dependence, and a need to cooperate for survival.



  
  
  


(1/3)

 

A gargled scream was what ripped the pleasant night silence into shreds, blazing between the muffled, lonely dog barks and evening laughter and distant, soughing rumbles of motored vehicles. It was a spark turned flame rising up and running along a trail of gasoline through the atmosphere, a yowl of distress and painful solitude.

Chanyeol—who sat curled over at the end of the bed—stretched and raked his breaths in unevenly, hot tears daring to scorch his eyes. His legs trembled as if the ground was juggling beneath him and his fingers were tangled between his short, black locks. He whimpered and mumbled to himself while his stomach torqued in his self-destruction.

He ran his palms over his face, blinking rapidly. His head rang with his own scolding memos:

_ Stupid Chanyeol! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! How could you fall in love with someone like Baekhyun? How dare you? _

Chanyeol shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, half-moaning and half-sobbing as thoughts of the other male swarmed his mind.

_ You are not deserving of him, Chanyeol. He’s perfect and you’re wretched. _

“B-B-B-But I-I do deserve him! I do! I do! I do!” Chanyeol cried to no one in particular.

_ You’ll only scare him away just like you do to everyone else. Even if he actually liked you you’d only think that he wasn’t what you wanted and then throw him away without realizing he was flawless. _

“N-N-No no no! I-I-I would never do that!” Chanyeol stood then, crying, shedding his sweater and socks and shoes and pants. He was sweating and couldn’t stand the stuffiness the clothes brought upon him. As he swiped the perspiration from his elbow crooks and forehead he gagged. So  _ gross _ . “I-I-I would take care of him! I would love him! And he w-would love me, too!”

Chanyeol paused, his eyes still stinging with teardrops, as potential images of a romance with Baekhyun flooded his senses like a heat wave that slammed into him with such propriety that he almost burst out crying again.

It was all so beautiful, so aesthetic, so otherworldly. They would be the epitome of love and purity and honesty. He would hold Baekhyun close to him all the time and Baekhyun would reciprocate his passion in any and every way he could. The days would be bright and nights would be warm, with Baekhyun’s skin against Chanyeol’s…

Chanyeol shivered and pressed his knuckles to his temples as he allowed a heavy sigh to guffaw out of his mouth. 

Up until the very moment Chanyeol had first laid eyes on that other, wonderful male, a future like the one he imagined was unrealistic. Impossible. Terrifying. The tall man was never good with other people, and was always a sore, poisonous thorn in society. He couldn’t fall in love. He had tried to before, but his longest lasting relationship was only about a month. It usually resulted in the other person leaving Chanyeol, but not always. It was horrendous; all of his experiences with romance were horrendous.

But Baekhyun…Baekhyun was not horrendous. He was lovely and light and beautiful and enticing and—

Chanyeol screamed again, clutching his sweat-stained shirt.  _ Baekhyun…Baekhyun…Baekhyun… _

He needed Baekhyun. And he was sure,  _ positive _ , that since his feelings for the other were so strong that Baekhyun must feel the same way. He just had to.

Chanyeol attempted to wipe away the oncoming stream of tears, to no avail. He nodded furiously.

“B-B-B-Baekhyun loves me, too. I know he does. He has to.”

_ What nonsense are you spitting? _

“He does! I love him and he loves me too!”

_ You’re delusional. He could never love you. _

“He does. I’m sure of it.” Chanyeol’s words were more resolute now, determined almost. His teeth clattered with adrenaline—this wasn’t the first time he’d had an episode like this. Within the last two weeks imagines of Byun Baekhyun plagued his mind with their beauty and drove him into lovesick panic attacks. He felt as if he was going insane over the boy. Chanyeol slumped to his knees on the floor, snuffling. “He loves me. Byun Baekhyun loves me.”

_ Are you sure? _

“Yes.”

_ Byun Baekhyun? _

“Yes.”

_ What are you going to do, then? _

“I…I don’t…I don’t know…”

_ You can’t actually talk to him. You know that don’t you? Your speech is useless as always. _

“N-N-N-No, I-I-I-I c-can try.”

_ No, you can’t. He won’t fall for your words. He’s too good for that. _

“N-N-No he would be more open, he would accept m-m-m-my s-s-st-st—” Chanyeol fulfilled his need to take took a slow, deep breath before he could continue. “S-Stutter.”

_ It’s not his job to just accept you, stupid Chanyeol. He has to love you. _

“B-B-B-But he already does love me.”

_ You can’t be sure of that, idiot. You’ve never even met him. Never said hi, never spoken to him for god’s sake. All you do is watch him from afar—  _

“Don’t doubt it! Don’t doubt him!”

_ You have to do something, Chanyeol. Stupid, stupid Chanyeol.  _

The tall male whimpered pitifully, rubbing his face and smushing the final tears away. “But what? What can I do?”

_ Just listen to me, stupid, silly little Chanyeol. I will tell you. _

 

_ ~ _

 

Baekhyun wasn’t weak. That was something he dutifully prided himself on. He welcomed challenges when he could get them, a bull hanging his own red cape; he was the  _ ‘Olé!’ _ to life itself. His soul was a multicolor of obsidian, star-sprinkled, midnight sky and a firey spark of flame. Yet it was as if a fresh, autumn breeze swirled around him consistently, exciting his presence into something charming.

Transferring to a new college didn’t feel like much of a change or challenge, but it was interesting. The experience was refreshing and cool, for lack of a better word, and Baekhyun wasn’t much one for staying in a single place anyway.

That being said, he was never really the type of person to hang out in a library either. He most likely held a running record from elementary throughout high school with the librarian for worst teacher-student relationship in the history of everything. It wasn’t that he didn’t like libraries or books – rather the contrary – but he was poor with returning what he had been lent and had a difficult time keeping his motor mouth shut. Even in college he consistently fell guilty to choruses of  _ sshhh _ s, hardly able to sit still for more than ten minutes.

Baekhyun glanced at his phone. It had been almost forty minutes since he’d been dropped here in the library and told to stay put. He’d been enthralled to be touring the university campus, jittery and curious about his new school. He’d arrived in the city two weeks ago, but hadn’t had a chance to see his whole new life yet. 

Now he squirmed about in his seat anticipating the tour guide to return from whatever emergency business it was that called him away.

He couldn’t take it. He needed to stand.

Baekhyun hastily pushed up from his chair and began an aimless wander across the room, around the tables staggered with students, and between the shelves. He supposed this place was just like any library – how were any libraries different, really?

He wove carelessly in and around the stockpiles of books, his hand brushing the dusty binds of tree-shreds. Row L…Row M…Row N…Row O…

It wasn’t until Baekhyun’s eyes were skimming over titles like,  _ Psychoanalysis: An Introduction to the Brain _ , when he collided with a hard chest suddenly, knocking him off-balance and causing him to stumble away. Already blurting an apology Baekhyun’s eyes traced up to the student he’d bumped into and he found himself looking into dark eyes wide as saucers, startlingly so.

The man was tall and lean, hair swayed flawlessly and entire body still, as if shell-shocked. In his arms were thick textbooks with clipart images of brains and such, and Baekhyun depicted titles like _ : Psychology 3 _ ,  _ Brain Games: Depression, Stockholm Syndrome, and More _ , and  _ A Study of the Human Brain _ .

Baekhyun quickly smiled and skirted around the student, bowing his head and offering an “I’m sorry” once again before continuing his pursuit of intrigue. 

He was just skipping down the S isle when a male voice called from behind him,

“Mr. Byun?”

Baekhyun whirled around and quickly grinned upon spotting the tour guide. He bowed his head and approached.

“Hello, mister. Sorry I wandered.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry I left you. Feeling a bit anxious now, are we?”

Baekhyun chuckled. “Of course.”

The man smiled and gestured towards the door. “Let’s continue. Would you like to see the piano studios?”

The smaller quickly nodded. “Yes, please!”

As Baekhyun headed out behind the alumni he was completely unaware of the pair of piercing, almond eyes watching from between the books.

 

~

 

Baekhyun, happily contented as his long, elegant fingers danced on ivory keys, was suddenly jolted out of his alluring presence at the piano when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. He twisted around, surprised by the unexpected appearance of another person in the small studio. A frown molded his mouth, however, when his eyes locked with the other person’s gaze. 

“Oh…” Baekhyun looked away, trying to brush the strong hand off of his shoulder. “What do you want, Yifan?”

The taller Chinese crouched lower from his high stance so that his face was near Baekhyun’s, close enough that they both caught a whiff of what the other had eaten for lunch. Wu Yifan planted his second hand on Baekhyun’s other shoulder.

“Just wanted to see you, Baek,” he said, nuzzling his nose into the smaller’s peach skin. Baekhyun leaned away with a hint of distaste and shrugged off Yifan’s hands.

“You don’t need to. It’s only my first day here Yifan,” Baekhyun mentioned with a scowl as his eyes traced the piano to avoid the other’s watchful sights.

“But I wanted to welcome my boyfriend to our shared college now, there’s nothing wrong with that.” His voice was unexpectedly gentle…husky, tainted with something else…pride?

“Not boyfriends,” Baekhyun quickly said. He turned to look at Yifan. “We’re not together anymore.”

“We’re not ex-boyfriends though. We never broke up,” the taller stated as he shuffled closer and grasped Baekhyun’s soft biceps. He squeezed them with a deep inhale, snuffing the dust in the pianist’s hair.

Baekhyun closed his eyes impatiently and said, “Go away Yifan. I want to practice.”

“You could play for me—”

“No.”

The taller chuckled and spoke as he sat down on the bench next to Baekhyun, facing the opposite way, “—I knew you’d like it here. All these great music programs for my wonderful Baekkie—”

“Stop, Yifan,” Baekhyun scolded as the other began inclining for a kiss. The smaller’s eyes were stern though slightly wavering. “I didn’t come to this school for you…and I’m not your petty little girlfriend, so stop treating me like I’m a girl.”

Yifan smiled and brushed his fingers beneath Baekhyun’s chin flirtingly then said, “I’m not treating you like a girl. I know you’re a guy. I’m treating you how I would treat my boyfriend  _ or _ girlfriend.”

The smaller looked away. “Well we’re not boyfriends…or girlfriends. So don’t treat my that way at all.”

The Chinese’s lips pulled into a line and then he spoke, his voice enfolded with shadows and fog, a sense of propriety tucked away there. “I think maybe we need some bonding time. Stop by my apartment later tonight; you know which one it is. My roommate will be gone—”

“No. I don’t need to. I don’t want to. Go away. I’m practicing…alone.”

Yifan paused, eye twitching, before he then sighed and stood. His hands brushed Baekhyun’s back, fingers lingering on his waist. “Fine, but my room is always open to you. I can kick Lu Han out whenever I want to for you.”

“No thanks,” Baekhyun said shortly, twiddling with his sheet music. The dozens of pages were strewn everywhere already thanks to his immediate disorganization skills. He wasn’t sure which paper belonged to which composition, but wasn’t motivated enough to sort them all.

Yifan’s expression soured. “Alright then. It’s not like you were alone anyway before.”

“What?”

The Chinese lifted his eyebrows and eyed Baekhyun’s confused face. “The guy hanging outside the room.”

“What guy?” Baekhyun’s eyes flitted to the door.

“You don’t know him?”

“Who?”

Yifan shrugged and began his laid back gait to the exit. “I’ll see you later Baek.”

Just before the door clicked shut Baekhyun mumbled hotly, “No, you won’t.”

 

~

 

Baekhyun—his cheek lying in his hand, elbow resting on the counter, his body slouched over the convenience store checkout—watched uninterestedly as Jongdae danced about the store, swinging a dilapidated broomstick around and around clumsily. The latter Korean boy yowled and shouted at seemingly random intervals while Baekhyun’s eyes slid closed as he did so.

“You’re doing it wrong,” mumbled Baekhyun, his eyes finally shut.

He heard the dejected clatter of the broom falling to the floor. “What? I take Hapkido,” Jongdae defended.

“No you don’t.”

“I’m a natural born warrior,” Jongdae said and armed himself with the broom once again. “It’s not like you take Hapkido either.” Baekhyun opened his eyes to the sight of his roommate tripping over the stick and nearly toppling to the floor. He sighed.

“I did take it actually.”

Jongdae paused to send an intrigued expressed Baekhyun’s way. “Really?”

“For like, two weeks in first grade…”

Jongdae scoffed and flipped the broom right side up, dropping the bristles to the floor to sweep. Baekhyun groaned and his head slid off of his palm and onto the countertop. His mind was swarming with fatigue. He usually didn’t mind working but he had never been fond of the drawling evening shifts, his hours dawdling lamely into the darkness of night when shadows obscured the bypassing vehicles and turned them into things monster-like and sinister. When the vividness of the people and the day petered out anticlimactically and Baekhyun had to be there to sink into the darkness at work. He didn’t like it.

He and Jongdae hadn’t seen many customers trickling in either: an old woman looking for cat litter, a man prowling for an eight-pack of beer and brandy, a lanky college student procrastinating and idling about the store. As Baekhyun’s eyes drifted out the store window and onto twilight-infected parking lot at the witching hour he vowed to find a better job as soon as his official classes started at the university.

Jongdae’s finger poking his armpit was what stirred him away from his semi-asleep state. 

“I’m still your boss Baekkie, and you’re still at work. Now go unload those boxes in the back and restock.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Come on, hyung.”

“I’ll teach Hapkido if you do it for me.”

“Your two weeks of Hapkido?” Jongdae asked, his eyebrows raised incredulously.

“Yes.”

Jongdae rolled his eyes. “Go on, hyung.”

Baekhyun smiled and tugged himself up then playfully flung his arms around Jongdae from behind in a friendly hug before he pranced to the back of the store.

He spent about thirty minutes stacking extra products into their appropriate places, yawning every two minutes and almost dropping four pounds worth of chocolate bars in his blurry-eyed state, and after Jongdae completed his third consecutive time sweeping the whole store he joined Baekhyun at the checkout counter.

The latter boy was on the Anti-Train-of-Thought to Destination Sleep when Jongdae unleashed the inner chatterbox.

“So…you and Wu Yifan?”

Baekhyun groaned. “No.”

“But—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The older of the two twiddled with one of the store pens, which was jammed open and practically void of ink or purpose beyond entertainment. “Because.”

“Because why?”

“He’s an ass.”

“I like his ass.”

“Do you now?”

“He likes your ass.” 

“I know.” Baekhyun watched as Jongdae wiggled his eyebrows provocatively. He gagged. “ _ All _ he wants is my ass. And my dick if he can manage it.”

“What’s there to manage? I’m bigger than yo—”

Baekhyun slapped Jongdae’s shoulder and wrinkled his nose. “He’s got no substance is what I mean.”

“He really likes you, Baek. He acts all romantic around you.”

“I don’t care…he stopped by our room, didn’t he?”

Jongdae nodded. “Told me to tell you to meet him at his apartment. I told him you had to work tonight and—”

“And?”

“—and that you’d go to his place later.”

“I won’t.”

“Why not? What’s there not to like about him?”

Baekhyun waited to reply, his eyes scanning the near-empty, florescent-lit store: there were only two other people that he paid no mind to. He sighed as the pen he’d been twirling spun off of the counter.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Well you’re going to his apartment though.”

Baekhyun glared daggers at his friend. “Why do you say that?”

Jongdae pursed his lips, caught between being thoughtful and smug. “Because he said he has your favorite sweater there…along with some other…clothing…”

Baekhyun threw his hands up. “You’re kidding! He still has my underwear from the last time I slept with him…I don’t know, six months ago?”

Jongdae shrugged and stood, elbowing Baekhyun off of the checkout counter so he could take care of a customer.

The sleepy boy rested his head in his arms, which served as a warm nest for his clouded mind, when Jongdae leaned close a minute later and whispered,

“Hey, Baekhyun. Hasn’t that dude been here for like, an hour?” 

Baekhyun grunted and opened a single eye, following Jongdae’s discreet gesture towards a figure at the back of the store. It was a tall man, young most likely, with his back turned to the two employees. Baekhyun shrugged and nestled his nose back into the crook of his folded elbows with a sigh.

“Yeah. Maybe he’s homeless and needs somewhere to stay. Just leave him alone.”

“It’s your first day on the job and you want to start letting homeless people stay here?”

“Well…no.”

“Do we kick him out?”

“He’s not doing anything illegal,” said Baekhyun and he lifted his face once again to observe the stranger. As soon as he did, though, the unknown man twitched his head away and displayed his broad shoulders for the other two to see even better. “At least I don’t think he is…”

“He’s not buying anything though,” said Jongdae with a frown. 

“I’ll see what he needs.” Baekhyun jumped off of his stool and began to stride towards the inactive stranger, but the second he stepped into the same isle the man abruptly spun on his heal and zoomed out of the front door without a hint of an acknowledgement. 

Baekhyun frowned and turned to glance at Jongdae, a moment of confusion passing between them.

 

~

 

Baekhyun strode along the city paths, brooding silently over himself. Although it was well into the night—and maybe into the next morning, Baekhyun wasn’t sure—the vivid urban buzz still hovered over everything and was setting into the people’s bones. 

The boy kept his yellow scarf hugging loosely around his neck, his light, knee-length wool coat doing well to keep his body warm. The September air was a welcome embrace of lingering summer: it had been an unusually warm fall to commence the oncoming winter. Baekhyun loved it, loved the gentleness of the oxygen that he breathed. Everything was just right about the weather.

Everything was less right when it came to Wu Yifan. Baekhyun waited, jaw clenched, in front of his former boyfriend’s apartment door awaiting its opening. 

After a short moment the Chinese appeared at the front, face twisting into a smirk as his gaze pinned the other. “Hey baby, I almost expected you not to come to me—”

Baekhyun quickly cleared his throat to interrupt the other’s speech, and—eyes diverted downward—he huffed, “My roommate said that you have my clothing. I’d like to have it back please.”

Yifan nodded. “Of course, just come in and—”

“No. I’ll wait out here.”

The taller tilted his head. “Lu Han is gone, you don’t have to worry about anyone hearing our—”

“I just want my clothes, Yifan.”

“I insist,” the taller said as he stepped closer.

“No.”

Yifan slumped his arm around Baekhyun’s shoulders and began tugging him inside. “It’s okay, Baekkie. I’m not pressuring you into it—you enjoyed it before. Just relax and…”

His voice was blurred into the ringing of Baekhyun’s ears. He usually wouldn’t be so easily coerced into joining the other in the apartment; in fact he knew very well that he could make Yifan return his things without moving an inch. But he was too tired and too impatient at the late hour to argue.

They shuffled into the apartment and Yifan deposited Baekhyun on the couch before running to retrieve the clothing. In that time alone the smaller male nearly gave in to the heavy pressure of unconsciousness, the dream world prickling on his skin. He didn’t notice Yifan had returned until a pair of lips met his cheek.

Baekhyun immediately reeled back and wiped his hand over his face while jumping up and standing abruptly. He lethargically grabbed the articles of clothing from Yifan’s hands as he swayed on his feet and the Chinese took the moment to swoop in. 

Although Baekhyun was quick enough to avoid a kiss, Yifan still managed to slide his hands up the smaller’s arms, over his back, settling on his waist. Baekhyun’s eyes fluttered shut then open again like butterfly wings. Yet his voice was extraordinarily resolute:

“No. Yifan.”

“Shh baby. I’m going to take care of you.”

“No,” Baekhyun said, his voice wavering as a yawn infected his senses.

Yifan didn’t respond, he only pulled the smaller close and began nipping his neck.

“Y-Yifan,” the Korean muttered, trying to muster his lacking authority. “Stop…”

Baekhyun wasn’t sure how the Chinese did it, but the smaller found himself back on the couch, his hands pinned beside his head and Yifan above him. His jacket and scarf had been discarded somewhere off to the side. He squirmed and scowled up at the other man.

“Wu Yifan, dammit, stop it.”

“Relax Baekhyun. I’ll make you feel good, it will feel nice to have me inside—”

He descended for a kiss, but just as his lips were about to catch Baekhyun’s there was a hurried knock on the door and a gentle voice announcing, “ _ I have a ramen delivery for…Wu Yifan _ ?”

The unexpected interruption caught both young men off-guard, and as Yifan cursed and slid off of Baekhyun the latter sucked in a lungful of oxygen in relief. 

Stomping towards the door, Yifan unlocked and pulled it open with a harsh, “What do you want?”

A tall delivery boy—almost as tall as Yifan—loitered in the doorway with his cap pulled low and a box in his white-knuckled grip. “D-D-D-Delivery.”

The Chinese frowned. “I didn’t order any ramen.”

The stranger shrugged and Yifan growled, “Fucking Lu Han probably ordered it…I don’t want it. I’m not paying for—”

Baekhyun hastily pushed past both tall men out of the apartment and began hurrying down the stairs, earning a startled yelp from Yifan. “Baekhyun—!”

The smaller didn’t wait around to hear out what the other had to say. Flustered, exhausted, and angry, he stormed away from the building with his belongings clutched close. Thank heavens for the delivery boy.

Baekhyun suddenly halted in his step then turned his head, searching the area around him. A shiver zipped through his nerves as the feeling of being watched collided with his fatigue.

He shook his head and began proceeding forward again. There was nothing there.

Yet he spent the rest of his walk home unconsciously glancing behind him again and again, unable to relax under the florescence of the city lights.

 

~

 

Five weeks passed. Sailed by like a speck of a breeze not hesitant enough to stay on a too-hot summer day when the only thing people wanted was a whisper of wind to alleviate the itchy sweat in their scalp. Days came and went without stopping to say hello: a rather unorthodox and anticlimactic prologue to Baekhyun’s life at his new university.

Not that he cared much. To him life was meant to be a lightning bullet train, excited but comfortable and full of new sights. 

He spent a surplus of time studying his instrumental art, though he frequently exchanged different outposts where he practiced as soon as Yifan started waiting for him outside the studios. He’d been given access to the auditorium, local church, town hall, band room, and library pianos to train.

Someone had also begun going through his things that he occasionally left in the university’s piano room. His sheet music—characteristically always mishap and disorderly—was suddenly impeccably organized. By title, composer, length, and such. Baekhyun couldn’t say that he minded, for it was much more efficient when he could play all of his songs in the correct succession, but it unnerved him a little knowing someone was going through his stuff. It unnerved him almost as much as knowing Yifan kept his underwear for six months to use as bait to get him to sleep with him.

Baekhyun sat in the vocal room next to his roommate, Jongdae, to whom he’d grown faultlessly intimate with over the weeks, intimate enough that the pianist agreed to sing with the vocal major.

“Thanks for helping me out, Baek,” Jongdae said as he began shutting down the recording equipment. They’d just spent a handful of disciplined hours recording time after time a song the boy had written for his class until Jongdae evaluated it as being up to specs on what he wanted. “I was really stressing over this assignment.”

Baekhyun beamed. “Sure. You’d better get an A on this though, I didn’t run my voice raw for nothing.” 

Jongdae glanced at his friend. “You should join up, get a bachelor’s or something. You’re good.”

The other boy shrugged. “Maybe.” He threw a sharp glare at the window of the door and only withdrew his defensive sight when he could confirm no one was watching. Jongdae caught the gesture.

“What’s that? Are you paranoid Yifan is going to be standing out there?”

Baekhyun winced. It had become increasingly difficult to avoid the Chinese, and things had gotten to the point where his educational life was endangered by the uncomfortable feeling simmering in his chest. He shrugged in response to the question.

Jongdae, who was emotionally intuitive by nature, sat back down again and lowered his voice. “Baekhyun? Did something happen?”

The boy shook his head. “No.” His eyes, though, trailed back to the door, half-expecting someone to be there. Jongdae frowned.

“Is Yifan bothering you that much? You could file a report for harassment—”

“It’s not him specifically, Kim. I just can’t shake this weird feeling in me…”

“Are you pregnant?”

Baekhyun slapped Jongdae’s arm. “No! I just feel like I’m being watched  _ all the time _ . I’m a little freaked out is all.”

The younger pursed his lips in critical thought. “There’s no reason for you to be. When did it start?”

“Since day one. I kept thinking it was that damn Wu, but I haven’t talked to him in two weeks.” He shuddered. “You know, that feeling that you’re being followed? My hair is always standing on end, when I’m at school, home, work…”

“Well you’re with me often, so maybe someone is actually looking at me.” Baekhyun flashed a disapproving scowl at his roommate, unamused by the comment, while Jongdae shrugged. “I’m not kidding. We’re together a lot.”

“We are, but not  _ that _ much. I feel like I shouldn’t be saying and doing everything I have been because there’s someone watching. My heart is always pounding and I’m constantly nervous. I hate it.”

“Maybe you have a secret admirer?”

Baekhyun snorted, his hands coming up to massage his jaw. “Yeah right.”

“Stalker?”

“Doubt it.”

“Assassin?”

“You’re not helping.”

“Relax, Baekhyun. You’re probably just nervous about this whole change of university thing.”

Baekhyun puffed out an exasperated breath and waved his hand. “But I’ve  _ never _ been unnerved by new things! There’s no reason for me to be freaked out about a new school…I don’t know. There’s no one there—I know that—and I’ve tried to calm myself down but it’s like my body is on autopilot and I can’t stop being super self-conscious.”

They both slipped into thoughtful, grim silence before Jongdae spoke up again: “Alright. If you need anything just let me know. You don’t want your nerves deterring your studies.”

Baekhyun nodded in full agreement, then stood and began packing his things. He squinted, his eyes scanning the room before he turned in circles searching for his possessions. “Hey, Jongdae?”

“Hm?”

“Have you seen my yellow scarf?”

“Huh? Not since you wore it in here.”

Baekhyun frowned, looking about the small space. “It has to be here.”

“I…don’t see it…”

“No one else came in here either…”

Jongdae hesitated and then shook his head. “No, there was that one guy that said he was looking for his sheet music.”

Baekhyun pondered. “The tall quiet guy?”

“Yeah.”

“He wouldn’t have taken it though. Why would he?”

The pair exchanged a wary expression, and with a sigh Baekhyun buttoned his coat and fastened his shoulder bag over his chest. He’d have to look for it later.

 

~

 

In the auditorium there were three pianos Baekhyun could have used.

One was tucked in the backstage hallway—which had wonderful acoustics surprisingly—and a second one was in a separate practice room.

The best one, however, was a grand Steinway at the center of the golden-hued stage, and whenever the theater was unoccupied he took advantage of the beautiful space to practice on that piano. Albeit he couldn’t ever quite shake the feeling of never being alone, he could at least relax when he played there. He could settle into some sort of calm when he was present on the dais.

Baekhyun’s fingers were trickling through some sort of sonata when his ears picked up the vague  _ click _ of a door closing behind him. There was no need to look or stop playing for him to know it was the janitor.

It never mattered what day or time Baekhyun went to play in the auditorium, but the janitor always appeared a minute or so after he arrived. Sometimes the man was already there, dusting and sweeping when Baekhyun came in. 

Which was odd, though, because today was the first day that the stranger came in almost two hours later, just as Baekhyun was about to leave. The student was rehearsing his last piece and would depart soon after.

The janitor came across as the quiet sort, and the two never exchanged any sort of conversation, but the college boy didn’t think he minded. Having a janitor wander around picking up deserted programs was much preferred over Yifan.

The final notes of the composition rung throughout the colossal room, and Baekhyun savored the blotches of color that appeared in his closed eyelids as he faced towards the spotlights: watercolor fireworks against a midnight palette. As the sweet echo faded he couldn’t help but imagine himself at an even larger venue, performing for thousands of people and exploiting every beauty the piano had to behold.

It was some dream.

Baekhyun sensed a warmth behind him and suddenly gasped, opening his eyes and whirling around on the piano bench.

As soon as he did his eyes landed on the uniform of the janitor, who stood only inches from his back. The stranger immediately turned 180-degrees and awkwardly pulled his cap lower over his face, sauntering slowly away. Baekhyun caught a whiff of some bitter scent wafting from the other person, an unpleasant, itchy, chemical smell.

Baekhyun’s hand went to his heart and he chuckled breathlessly. “Sorry, mister. You scared me. I wasn’t expecting you to be there…”

The man stopped and turned his head only slightly, allowing Baekhyun to witness solely the slope of his curved jaw, though nothing else. The janitor didn’t reply or move for several soundless moments and Baekhyun reached to scratch behind his ear edgily. “Er…can I help you with something...?”

No reply. Baekhyun glanced away from the janitor’s back and then at him again, unsure of whether it was okay to initiate small talk. Thinking that there couldn’t be anything wrong with it, Baekhyun smiled shyly and took a shot.

“You’re late today, mister. Usually you’re here as soon as I get here…coincidental, right? But I’ve got to leave now…” Baekhyun lifted his watch to his eyes as he spoke. “It’s already seven o’clock. I’m going to see a free concert in the park at eight. It’s a pianist from China. I recommend you go, it should be really good.”

The air was void of a response. A convoluted, deadly silence inexplicably replaced the warmth that was surrounding them only a moment before. The comfort evaporated and for the first time was replaced by a stuffy draftiness as an unfriendly forebode seeped into the air. Baekhyun shuddered. The only sound that interrupted the too-loud noiselessness was the sweep of Baekhyun’s sheet music slipping off of the piano and onto the floor.

He quickly reached for the papers and collected them messily in his arms as one of his laughs escaped his throat, riddled with tension.

“Heh…well, mister…I’m to get going. I hope you have a nice evening—”

But the janitor had slumped off and away behind the dark curtains at the side of the stage. Baekhyun, thoroughly confused, was left standing in a cloud of unease. He hesitated for a moment, enveloped by the strange quiet. With a cough he speedily shoved himself into his coat and exited the stage, his mind already wandering away from the janitor and onto what he was going to have for dinner.

 

~

 

Perhaps part of the reason why Baekhyun got lost was because he was doped up on rhythm, high on a melody that had caught his senses and wouldn’t stop buzzing in his bones. It was understatement to say he enjoyed the concert and had certainly fallen in love with the tunes he’d heard. Despite being undeniably lost to no end, he couldn’t help but skip and dance around the streets to the languorous strain on replay in his mind.

Besides that, it was also a strange city, new area, and network of unfamiliar streets that the young college student was alien to. He had every reason to be lost and had never been very good with navigation anyway. 

It wasn’t until Baekhyun found himself on a darkened suburb street that he realized that he had to have been on the opposite side of the city he ought to be. He glanced to his right and left both: should he go down the shadowed street towards the unfamiliar houses or…down the other shadowed street to houses that were also unfamiliar? There were no street signs or defining geographical marks. It was a simple street that looked identical to the one he had just come from. 

Baekhyun froze, a chill biting the back of his neck. In his excitement he’d just about been relieved of the discomfort in his stomach, yet now that his brain was orienting away from scales and chords and staff marks he sensed a seed of focus germinating within him. 

He knew he was being watched. He knew it.

_ No _ , he scolded himself.  _ Stop freaking out. There’s no one following you. _

With an absolute nod he turned and began striding down the street to his right. He skipped contentedly through the shadows and under an orange, flickering streetlight, almost forcing his grin to stay on his face, for it was difficult to be happy when a wicked cold hung in the air above his head. Pulling his coat closer, he wished he had his scarf.

He walked. And walked. Each house appeared as a carbon copy of the other, the shade obscuring every object that came into view. A single girl on a bicycle whizzed past, but then there was no one.

Coming up on a crossroad, Baekhyun slowed. He couldn’t see anything very well at all, his eyes swathing over the scenery and seeing nothing, yet seeing something out of the nothing at the same time. The ordinary became sinister in the black clouds. The two streetlamps at the corner were both burnt out, depressed and lonely. 

Baekhyun crossed the road and glanced down the street, but saw nothing. He crossed the next span of pavement, though saw nothing either. Carefully, he strode to the center of the empty street and planted his feet at the very midsection between the interlacing lanes. 

Surrounded by shadows, concealed by the gloom of the night mystery, Baekhyun waited.

He breathed.

He blinked.

He waited.

An itch irritated his skin all over, his blood cooling. The hair on the back of his neck rose; Baekhyun’s heart sped but his stomach stilled within him. A wave of dizziness rode over him and a droning hum vibrated within his skull. Baekhyun crossed his thin arms over his small chest, his coat feeling all too thin now.

He sensed it. 

A thick force slammed into him from behind, forcing a gasp out of him just before a gloved mitt braced his mouth and a thicket of limbs clasped his body tight. He thrashed only for a moment before a muffled cry slashed from his vocal cords. As soon as he opened his mouth, though, a burning, acid-like substance infiltrated his lungs. 

Immediately he knew it was something awry, something narcotic. He couldn’t help but inhale it all more as hyperventilated breaths hitched in and out of him in blind panic. Tears vaulted to his eyes, the body behind him pressed undesirably secure. 

In a matter of seconds his feet went numb. His futile jostles with his upper body were completely useless against the silhouette around him, something he realized just before slacking, his bleary eyes wide with alarm.

A voice whispered behind his ear:

“It’s me, my lovely Baekhyun. It’s your Chanyeol.”

And the world dissolved around him.

  
  


(2/3)

Baekhyun had never felt true terror before.

He’d experienced fear and fright and anxiety, had been startled out of his skin and unnerved to uncomfortable lengths. When he was young, Baekhyun had been deathly afraid of the dark. That particular fact was an embarrassing stain on the young man’s persona, one he didn’t divulge to other people often. When he was still a child he had set up a contraption in his room where he’d tied a string to the light switch, a string long enough that he could pull the lights off from his bed before ducking under his covers with a gasp. 

Admittedly, it would have been truly liberating if he had asked either of his parents to check under the bed or in the shadowed closet for monsters— _ his _ monsters. But even in his young age Baekhyun had a sinful edge of pride that he never dared smite, and although as a little boy he would go to bed shivering and crying in fear of his creatures hidden in the shadows, he never asked his parents to save him from his monsters.

He never slept with any sort of light on because that was admitting weakness. He never asked for his parents rid the shadows of monsters because that was admitting defeat.

So he suffered.

Baekhyun was no longer afraid of the dark.

 

_ Cheesecake _ .

That was the first thing that Baekhyun thought upon the arrival of his consciousness:  _ This couch smells like cheesecake. _

It was then that the fear set in. Baekhyun’s heart became jammed in his throat, lodged in his vocal chords as his mouth opened wide in a silent scream. Tears leapt to his small eyes and he slapped his hand over his mouth. He could already sense his body quivering and his brain pushing him into fight or flight, adrenaline pulsing in his veins.

This. This was terror.

Nothing could save him from the dreadful drop in his stomach, heart fleeting and afraid. Baekhyun was very, very afraid.

His eyes flitted about the room, but he had to blink out the tears caught in his eyelashes in order to see. His brain told him it was morning, but his body sensed that it was much later than that. He pulled his second hand out from under the layers of blankets he was wrapped in, felling disgusted by the feeling of them on his skin.

It was a small room, a living room or parlor or sorts. There were no embellishments on the walls and the only furniture was the musty couch Baekhyun laid on and a chair that had one of its legs broken off. The young man noticed his jacket, shoes, and sweater draped over the back of the seat, his heavy clothing been removed. He grimaced. Someone had to have taken his clothes off. It really did unnerve him, like when his things were being moved and touched back at the university. 

A dead plant withered and collected dust in the corner and there were pale square patches on the wall where picture frames probably once hung. There were vague bits of trash on the ground and a trace of some sort of drug that probably hadn’t actually been in that room for years. The windows in the room were drawn over by planks of wood and an eerie shade was cast over everything.

Baekhyun pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and wrapped his arms around himself. This was bad. This was very, very bad. 

Had he been kidnapped? That was what this was, wasn’t it? The boy almost laughed the concept seemed so foreign and movie-like. But here he was, awakening in a strange place after being nabbed in the night on a strange street.

Of course, he didn’t know where he was or any idea where he could be. How could he when he’d been lost to the nth degree? 

More questions flooded his mind, driving him into panic. What if he was being watched right now? Or recorded? Who did this to him? Did they want something from Baekhyun? What did the boy have to offer? Why did this happen? Where was he? What would Baekhyun do when the person found out he was awake? Or…was there more than one person? Why wasn’t he tied up? He was only sleeping on a couch, in fact.

Shivering and almost choking on fear, Baekhyun slowly, slowly sat up, his muscles clenching and unclenching, ready to run or fight. Wherever he was it was ghostly silent, some part of the structure creaking with every transfer of his weight. The air he inhaled almost felt stale in his lungs, moldy. Baekhyun had to purse his lips tight in order to silence his heavy breathing.

Everything he did he did with caution. It took him almost ten minutes to get both of his stocking feet off of the couch and onto the ground, as if a single second equaled a minute in this place. Taking in his surroundings, there was only one doorway to go through. Baekhyun didn’t like his chances, but he couldn’t get out of the windows without making an awful racket and drawing attention. That was something he certainly did not want to do.

With an unsuccessful attempt at a deep breath Baekhyun stood, thanking the universe that the floor didn’t creak. Timidly and fearfully the young man shuffled his weight across the floor, dying a little bit every time the boards beneath him groaned. Baekhyun made it to the entry into the next room and his long, light fingers curled around the doorframe before he peeked around the corner, wincing in reflex expecting someone to be there. His breath fanned over his fingers, and then when he realized no one was in the room Baekhyun carefully slid around the corner.

A kitchen. But in this room dark, loose fabric covered the windows. Baekhyun gulped and hopped over to the windows to pull a curtain back and see what was outside, immediately sensing a way to escape.

But all he saw was gray. It only took a moment for his blurred, alarmed mind to recognize that there was a building aside this one, that it was so close to the windows that the whole purpose of the panes of glass was completely marred. He attempted to see past the walls outside but the vantage was unfortunate; he could see nothing. The light of the day told him that it was cloudy, potentially rainy this day. He had no idea what time of day it was: rainy days were long stretches of bled-together hours with no discernable time differences. He wasn’t fond of them.

Baekhyun dropped the curtains. He had a sudden, uncanny thought: what would Jongdae do in this situation? It was silly to think of; his roommate wasn’t entirely bright but at least Jongdae had good instincts. He could naturally tell when someone was upset or unhappy, and he could read a situation and decide what to do rationally and with some small dose of calm.

Baekhyun had none of that. In fact he was so afraid, so  _ not _ calm that he thought for a moment he would faint. Baekhyun shrugged the curtain to the side again and desperately scrabbled around the edges of the windows, digging his fingernails into the cracks trying to get it to open. It wouldn’t, it was sealed all the way around.

A whimper squeaked up from his throat and he leaned against the windowsill and brought his hands up to his mouth, collecting some comfort feeling his own warm breath on his skin.

_ Stop Baekhyun _ , he chided himself.  _ You’re not weak. You’re not weak _ , he repeated.  _ You’re not weak. Everything will be okay. Calm down. You’re not afraid of the dark. The monsters have gone away. _

Something in Baekhyun froze then. Intense déjà vu and a wave of nostalgia smacked him hard, almost robbing him of his heartbeats.

The monsters have gone away.

That was a phrase Baekhyun hadn’t heard himself think since he was what, eleven? Twelve? That particular string of words was a permanent carve into his soul. He honestly couldn’t believe it had resurfaced now.

Baekhyun ran his fingers through his hair and tugged on the strands a bit, a bitter sigh wracking his lungs. He had to keep moving forward. There was nothing for him here among the moldy hardware and small stack of unwashed dishes in the far sink. For an odd reason he did not understand, Mozart’s requiem  _ Lacrimosa _ began swarming his mind, the music familiar to Baekhyun’s pianist hands. The song began buzzing in his ears and flooding out the panicky questions. Perhaps it was some sort of survival technique: his mind substituting and providing something familiar and calming for him to feed off of, if not a tad spooky.

He allowed it to fill him.  _ Mozart, save me _ .

Baekhyun creeped through the kitchen to the next doorway and found himself at a crossing. A bathroom to his left, a hallway to his right, and a door budged open ajar ahead of him. The draft of the hallway sent a chill his way and he shivered, wrapping his arms around his body as if it would protect him from whatever imminent danger would be coming for him. As far as he knew, no one was around.

Baekhyun glanced down the hallway, determining that this was the best way to go…but as he rounded the corner a second time—avoiding the walls as if they were poison—there was one small something that caught his eye in the hidden room behind the door.

A long, yellow piece of fabric that Baekhyun knew well was illuminated in the gray light and was visible in the crack of the door.

Baekhyun frowned and moved towards the room, nudging the door open with his elbow. He was first hit with a scent of lavender of all things, and as his eyes adjusted to the light the boy couldn’t help but gasp, jaw dropped and hands flying to his mouth to muffle the exclamation that hung just behind his tongue.

Firstly, it was definitely his yellow scarf wrapped and folded nicely on the table along the far wall. But never had Baekhyun seen so many photos of himself in one place. In fact he didn’t even know so many pictures of himself existed in the world. Whatever pictures there ever could have been were all here.

Baekhyun hung on the door, eyes wide and scanning the overzealous mass of photographs pinned, taped, and glued to the walls. They were all of…of him. Overlapping and smothering the paint that perhaps was there underneath them. The young man was absolutely shocked; there had to have been hundreds of pictures, all of them featuring Baekhyun in his daily life. At school, in public, at restaurants, with friends, in class, playing piano, walking, talking, laughing, studying, making faces, sleeping, and…even a few of him undressing. Many were through windows, it seemed. There were some that Baekhyun could easily connect with memorable moments in the last few weeks, like his encounter at Yifan’s apartment or that one night when he and Jongdae were working and there had been that weird dude hanging around for hours, and some that were just bizarre or radically mundane. Sitting on a bench. Waiting for the bus. Standing in line at the bank. 

Baekhyun turned in circles. They were just everywhere and it was tragically overwhelming. 

On the table at the far wall was an even more outlandish array of items. Baekhyun felt his jaw drop in disbelief as his fingers ran over copies of his essays for class, a reprint of his birth certificate, the toothbrush he’d thrown away. His scarf appeared to be the most recent addition and it sat next to a brochure of the outdoor concert he’d attended, also beside a stack of recently printed photographs of that very day. 

The young man turned and glanced behind him, feeling awfully sticky and stale, then carefully sifted through the photos: one of him eating breakfast, one of him on the bus, in class, on the street, recording with Jongdae, playing piano in the auditorium, sitting at the concert.

“Holy shit,” Baekhyun breathed with an incredulous scowl, dropping the photos on the table. He retracted his hands as if he’d been shocked.

Sure, Baekhyun thought that people liked him. He liked being liked and he liked people a lot. He was amicable and humorous and other humans enjoyed him. It was one of his more positive qualities.

But he could never have imagined being liked this much. This wasn’t liking. This was stalking, and it freaked him out. 

He felt rather small and stupid. Here he’d been, worried about someone rearranging his sheet music at the studio, when he’d been under someone’s spotlight for months it seemed. 

Baekhyun stepped up to the desk again, and beside the slim laptop there laid stacks of papers and notes. He carefully picked up one of the sheets, throwing a quick look behind him at the door, and then scanned over the array of words.

It took him a minute to capture the flow of the stanzas, but it suddenly became clear. This was a love poem.

Baekhyun furrowed his eyebrows and let the paper flit to the floor, backing up and shaking his head in disbelief. This wasn’t a random kidnapping; this was intentional, sick, and possessive. He backed into the door, his stomach churning, when a clatter of a noise echoed throughout the space, followed by the sound of a door opening and a body entering with a sigh. 

Baekhyun’s panic skyrocketed and with the sudden ache in his head he tripped over his feet as he backpedaled, catapulting into the wall and stumbling out of the room into the hall. Feeling ill and pale, his eyes traced down the unfamiliar corridor where the noise had come from, unable to blink in fear.

There, at the end of the hall standing just as petrified as Baekhyun, was a tall, young, strange man, his eyes and mouth wide in shock.

They stood that way only for a split moment before Baekhyun’s body suddenly took over without his brain realizing it, deciding unconsciously that he wasn’t going to fight this one out: his only way to survive was to run.

He bolted out of the hallway back toward the kitchen as terrified breaths wheezed in and out of him. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know how he was going to get out, but as his brain screamed  _ Lacrimosa _ in his mind, he told himself he’d smash a window, grab a weapon, hide, do  _ something _ .

This had all happened in less than a second. Behind him a voice shouted, “Baekhyun!” followed by quick, heavy steps. The tall man chased Baekhyun through the kitchen, the smaller boy going deaf and blind and only focused on escaping. It only took a second for the stranger to catch up to Baekhyun, whose mind was doing somersaults of fear.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

_ The monsters have gone away. _

_ The monsters have gone away. _

_ The monsters have gone away. _

A hand clamped onto his elbow from behind and whipped him around and Baekhyun’s knees collapsed in submission as a wail fell past his lips. He half-fell and was half-pushed onto his back, a weight settling over his midsection and the ominous, black barrel of a gun appeared in his face.

Baekhyun screamed. A blood-curdling, throat-ripping, ear-piercing scream that had never been heard before. His vocal chords burned, slit raw and on fire. His heart shattered and it felt as if his ribs became claws inside him, tearing his organs apart. He couldn’t breathe, could barely hear his own deathly scream of absolute terror as it collided with the air around them.

As soon as he the scream died, the boy couldn’t help but sob. He didn’t care what was weakness and what wasn’t, he just cried. He cried because he was absolutely sure: this was his death day. He was going to die. He was going to die.

He was going to die.

Baekhyun was hardly even aware of the person partially sitting on top of him, he only wept his soul out, his chest hiccupping and heaving in distress.

He didn’t notice as the taller male froze, the stranger’s own eyes watery and wide. He looked at the heavy contraption in his now-shaking hands and astonishment plagued his features.

Then his eyes traced back to Baekhyun, his one and only love of his life. The boy was crying, sobbing, wailing and begging, screaming the words, “Please! Please! Please don’t kill me!”

The man blinked, surprised by his own actions, then released his threatening position and sluggishly tossed the gun to the side. He was horrified: horrified with what he had just done. Where had the gun even come from? Why…why would he…he would never have scared Baekhyun like that. He wasn’t scary. He wasn’t.

“I…I’m-I’m so...” he gulped. “I’m so s-sorry. I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun felt the weight on his stomach disappear and gentle, yet tense hands wrap around his arms. Someone pulled him up into a sitting position and pressed their warmth into his side, easy arms guiding him dazedly to a stand.

Baekhyun shook violently, unable to subdue the savage tremors of his hyper-adrenaline body. He struggled to breathe through his harsh sobs and his face burned. There was something extremely uncomfortable about the body next to him but Baekhyun couldn’t focus enough to think about what it might have been; he felt sick. No, he was definitely going to be sick.

The stranger must have sensed what Baekhyun was feeling because he hastily directed the smaller towards the bathroom, and the latter boy jerked out of the taller’s embrace and collapsed onto the cold tile. He retched into the toilet, his stomach completely agitated by the pool of adrenaline hormones that had shot through his body.  _ I’m going to die _ , he thought, both in legitimate fear of being killed and also in feeling shitty and sick. Hot hands settled on his waist and tenderly held his quaking body still, and after Baekhyun heaved up at least a day’s worth of meals he wasn’t sure if he wanted to live anymore he felt so afraid.

Baekhyun only had the capacity to prop himself up on his hands and knees; if he moved he’d probably end up fighting the ghost of a man beside him. He was also thinking that if he stirred his stomach he would throw up again. Baekhyun really didn’t want that.

He sensed someone speaking and moving nearby and the person reached out to touch him; he practically growled in return. The stranger, his captor, pulled back.

“Baekhyun?” the velvety tenor voice whispered. The boy cowered away, but couldn’t help but be revolted by the way the voice sent him a pleased shiver. “Shh…I-I have s-some w-water.”

He reached out again, and this time Baekhyun sat perfectly still, too petrified to move as the stranger encircled the smaller’s body and lifted a glass of the crystalline liquid to his lips. Baekhyun was hesitant, wary of what other substances would potentially be in the water. He of course had every right to believe some drug was in there and he was suddenly struck with a poisonous wave of anger. He didn’t want to drink it. But…he wanted it too…

“It’s alright,” the stranger coaxed. “Go ahead and drink.”

Timidly and with a weary sigh Baekhyun lipped the edge of the glass, very gradually allowing the icy drink to calm his scalding throat and wash the acidic taste prickling his tongue away with tiny gulps. The arm that wasn’t holding the glass tightened around him, more confident.

“There,” the voice soothed. “That’s good.” Baekhyun continued to very slowly sip the water and the stranger continued to speak. “I-It’s odd. I-I-I n-never left your side for one second, I-I-I promise, my Baekhyun…I never did…but…but I n-noticed y-you had no other clothes h-here, s-s-so I w-was going to get you s-some but I had f-forgotten m-m-m-my w-w-w-wallet…and in the f-few m-minutes I-I was g-gone you woke up. I n-never should have left your side.”

The man seemed to be upset with himself, a tint of guilt and remorse in the hue of his voice, but Baekhyun didn’t care. He pulled away from the glass of water feeling lightheaded and jittery. 

The stranger’s arms were still encircling him and he felt suffocated, disgusted and fearful. Baekhyun drew his gaze across the floor and up to the doorway, knowing now that if he just ran straight he would find some sort of exit where the man had come in.

His captor released him only for a moment to put the glass away and in that split second Baekhyun skittered off of the floor and made a run for it, barreling towards the door. He had to get out.

It was fruitless. The stranger caught him instantly and yanked him back down and Baekhyun fell with a yelp. The man’s limbs immediately snagged around the smaller’s body and clenched his arms down, pinning him against his own chest as Baekhyun struggled to be released. He was in pain. Baekhyun felt hot tears spring to his eyes again and he only ceased his flailing when the man leaned down and whispered in his ear,

“Please don’t do that Baekhyunnie. It’s me, your Chanyeol. Don’t run. D-Don’t run.”

Baekhyun tensed but didn’t protest as the taller male—whose name apparently was Chanyeol—carefully maneuvered their combined convoluted heap on the floor and forced Baekhyun onto his back, ordering a slight, “Stay”. The taller fumbled around for a bit, looking flustered and nervous, then he reached down to the waistline of his jeans, long fingers dancing with his belt buckle as it came undone.

Baekhyun didn’t know where all of his tears came from, because he’d never experienced them so much, but they all came loose in his eyes as he started crying again, his arms instinctively crossing his body. He shrieked, “No, no, no! Please, no! I don’t want to! I can’t! I won’t!  _ Please _ , no!”

Chanyeol’s eyes widened and he paused halfway pulling his belt out of the loops. He shook his head quickly. “Oh, no, Baekhyun, my love, that’s not what I’m doing. I would never…I-I-I would never d-do that t-to you.”

But Baekhyun still recoiled and curled up, flinching when Chanyeol drew near. The smaller male squeezed his eyes shut and prayed; he wasn’t particularly religious. Religion was one of those things that floated around the air but had never really settled with him, but now he prayed to whatever gods were listening that he would be okay, that he would be saved, that this Chanyeol person wouldn’t rape the life out of him. 

Chanyeol’s fingers wrapped around the smaller’s thin wrists and he drew them together and pulled them away from Baekhyun’s chest. The latter male bit his lip as the sticky leather wrapped around them and tightened. Baekhyun could discern Chanyeol’s ragged, nervous breathing and then his voice:

“I-I-I-I’ve n-never done this before. I-I-I didn’t want t-to use this, and really, my love, I don’t want to I swear, I don’t want to use this. But I don’t want you to run away, I want you to s-stay. The voices tell me this is the best way. It’ll only b-be for a little while I promise. I really want you to stay.”

Baekhyun gingerly allowed his eyes to blink open through a glaze of tears and for the first time, he looked at Chanyeol’s face.

Chanyeol was undoubtedly handsome. His face was narrow but his chin was round, adorned with pink, pristine lips, sparkling almond eyes, and a sleek nose. Perfectly large shell-like ears protruded only slightly from the side of his head, past a shag of ebony, smooth hair. His body was lean and long, thin but toned. Baekhyun supposed he had a friendly face, but it was marred by the thin layer of anxiety plastered over it.

Baekhyun didn’t care. All he saw was a monster.

Chanyeol finished tying Baekhyun’s hands to the base of the pedestal sink, sitting back on his knees and observing Baekhyun’s hunched figure on the floor. There was an obvious look of distress in his eyes, Baekhyun noticed especially as the smaller looked away, burying his head between his arms.

Chanyeol spent the next half hour helping brush the other male’s teeth and adjusting the belt tying his hands to the sink. He seemed to find comfort in just being around Baekhyun and spent lots of time just kneeling next to him, mumbling to himself.

Baekhyun just wanted to go home.

 

~

 

Baekhyun was startled out of his several-hour long stupor of listening to his own monotonous breathing by the shriek of breaking glass and a shout of frustration. The young man couldn’t see much of anything, even the fatally hard floor he was curled up on. He hadn’t any idea what time of day it was, having been locked up in the darkness of the small bathroom with no lights on. 

His eyes flicked around nervously, though, as Chanyeol’s ragged calls echoed throughout the room accompanied by muffled crashes and bumps. Baekhyun clenched his fists together, hoping that Chanyeol wouldn’t come back into the bathroom and bring his fury with him. The taller man had been in and out of the bathroom for hours with meals and thirst-quenching water and all Baekhyun wanted at this point was to be left alone to despair in peace.

His desire wouldn’t be fulfilled, though, as he heard Chanyeol stumble up to the door and it burst open, his silhouette looming ominously in the doorway. Chanyeol dropped down to his knees and almost collapsed his body into Baekhyun’s, the taller’s face flushed and splotched.

Baekhyun instinctively tucked his head away with a squeak, and this seemed to flare Chanyeol’s upset. The taller male broke into a sob and grabbed Baekhyun’s arm.

“Look at me! Dammit, please, look at me! M-M-M-My B-B-Ba-Baekhyun, m-my love, i-i-i-it’s me, it’s your Ch-Chanyeol!”

He was incredibly intense and severely agitated and his eyes were wild and insecure. It was as if Baekhyun’s adrenaline had been ignited once again and he began trembling, shaken by Chanyeol’s harshness. 

Baekhyun didn’t know much, if anything, about Chanyeol. He only figured he was insane; throughout the day so far he’d been mentioning voices and was extremely unsettled by many things. Baekhyun continued his best to neglect Chanyeol and hide himself away still in fear his kidnapper would do something…bad.

Baekhyun squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face further, wishing Chanyeol would go away.

The taller shouted, “No,  _ no! _ ” He growled and slammed his fist on the floor, then reached up and grabbed the glass soap dispenser, using all of his force to smash it on the tile. Startled out of his skin, Baekhyun shrieked and kicked away, the belt pulling taught and restricting his attempt to distance himself from Chanyeol.

Heart hammering and eyes dutifully sealed Baekhyun cried, “Stop! Stop! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

He sensed Chanyeol pull away only slightly and after a moment he allowed his eyes to peep open.

Chanyeol was on his hands and knees, tears ready to spill and breath rasping. His eyes were pinned to the ground and he glanced up occasionally to Baekhyun’s body, but always looked away quickly as if it pained him to look at the other male.

Chanyeol guffawed and gasped, dropping his head and falling to his elbows. “My Baekhyun, you’re so… _ god _ , ugh. So ethereal, so  _ nice _ , just…” The man fell into a chorus of sobs and the sound was bone-chilling and discomforting and Baekhyun was unbelievably afraid. Fear encompassed him and seared his brain, his body wanting to flee but all he could do was watch in dismay as Chanyeol fell apart in front of him.

The taller male suddenly froze and whipped his head up, eyes meeting Baekhyun’s in an unexpected flash. Baekhyun gasped, entranced by the beautiful face and loving eyes that gleamed with exoticness. 

But he couldn’t help it: he had to look away. He only saw the face of his monster.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

_ The monsters have gone away. _

_ The monsters have gone away. _

Chanyeol shouted and suddenly stood, stumbling out of the door for a minute. Baekhyun let out a breath he’d been holding and shifted from his uncomfortable position as he silently willed Chanyeol to go away. Weak. That was what he was. Weak. He’d promised himself never to be weak again years ago and he just…he hated it. How could he be so easy to break? That had never been the case before, and…and…he wouldn’t let that be the case now. He couldn’t. Byun Baekhyun wasn’t weak.

He flicked a stray piece of glass that had been digging into his hand away, jaw setting and body tensing.

Chanyeol came back then and he stood limply in the doorway, and although Baekhyun couldn’t see his eyes he knew that the taller was watching his every move. 

There was something odd about Chanyeol being in the room: something eerily comforting and warmly terrifying. Baekhyun couldn’t pinpoint what exactly it was, his mind being in a jumbled haze and unable to think clearly. 

Minutes passed. Neither moved.

An hour had passed. Chanyeol slipped to the ground.

Two hours had passed. Silence.

Four hours had passed. Baekhyun’s eyes drooped closed.

Six hours had passed. Baekhyun’s stomach growled.

Eight hours had passed. Chanyeol reached out and rearranged the strands of hair on Baekhyun’s forehead. 

Ten hours had passed. Baekhyun fell asleep feeling uncomfortable and subject to examination. 

That day he slept dreamless.

 

~

 

Chanyeol didn’t think that being around Baekhyun would feel this way. It wasn’t what he had expected.

Maybe Baekhyun was just confused, and he wasn’t expressing his love easily. That was why he looked so scared and why he was ignoring Chanyeol, why his eyes seemed sunken and his body always shivering. That was the reason. Baekhyun would show his love eventually. Chanyeol just needed to keep Baekhyun there until that happened.

Chanyeol lay on the tile floor, eyes cascading lovingly over his sleeping companion’s crystalline face. Although this situation wasn’t one he had pictured before, just being near the smaller male made him quiver with delight. Everything about his infatuation was absolutely stunning, perfect, lovely. He reached out and stroked Baekhyun’s cheek, brushing an eyelash off of his skin. It was all more beautiful than he imagined.

Chanyeol had been abandoning his schoolwork and had almost forgotten about school altogether. This was far more important than studying brain stems and cellular functions. He had stopped going out completely after three days of keeping Baekhyun, because when he saw police cars outside of Baekhyun’s former dorm building and cops talking with his former roommate—some kid named Jongdae—he panicked. Chanyeol couldn’t imagine what he was doing being illegal…until he really had thought about it. This was very illegal.

But it was okay. He could avoid the police, and when Baekhyun came-to he could explain that everything was fine. Sure, maybe they were in a rough patch at the moment, but it would all be okay.

It was going to be okay.

That’s what Chanyeol told himself.

 

~

 

Baekhyun tried his best not to respond to Chanyeol and his insane outbursts, he tried not to flinch or cry or speak. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, how much time was passing, but every second felt like a torturous eternity. He may have decided that he wouldn’t show weakness in the face of his captor, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t completely humiliated after days and days of doing only what he wanted when Chanyeol wanted. He may have been in the bathroom, but he could only actually use it when Chanyeol allowed him. He only ate or drank or spoke when Chanyeol was there to have him do it. His chest clenched with embarrassment and inferiority. He’d become acquainted with the shadows, the moldy cracks in the floor, the stale smell of the small bathroom. But Baekhyun never reacted to Chanyeol’s displays of affection or his frustrated fits. This became a much easier task to do once he was starving.

At first he thought that Chanyeol simply forgot to feed him. Meals used to come every few hours, to the point that Baekhyun was over full but kept eating because he was afraid of being punished if he didn’t. But now the meals didn’t come at all, and Baekhyun was left on his side to wither and crunch up in pain, his stomach writhing within him. It had gotten to the point where moving caused him dizzy spells and speaking was impossible, his throat parched. 

As days passed, though, he suspected that Chanyeol was doing it on purpose to discipline him. It was a cruel way to do it, drive him into hunger and thirst. He didn’t only forget to feed him. Using the bathroom became obsolete and after several days Baekhyun felt disgusted in his filth. His wrists were sore and rubbed raw by the harshness of the belt. The only thing was that Chanyeol didn’t seem to realize what he was doing; he didn’t seem sinister and was never directly wicked or maleficent. It was deftly confusing.

Chanyeol was having another frenzy of panic and anxiety, and now he pulled Baekhyun towards him, hovering over him with his broad hands on the smaller’s ribcage. Baekhyun squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to look his monster in the eyes. He wouldn’t do it. 

Chanyeol hands were hot against his skin and his fingers pressed tighter against his ribs and Baekhyun felt the taller’s breath against his face and neck, the proximity almost killing him. He bit back a whimper.

“Please, please, look at me! Baekhyun! Please! Goddammit!” Chanyeol exclaimed. He screamed and Baekhyun almost recoiled beneath him. God, he was exhausted and hungry and felt disgusting. He could tell Chanyeol was unraveling as well, becoming even more desperate. “Let me hold you! Let me love you! Fucking…please!”

Baekhyun bit his lip, still keeping his eyes closed. He realized the rising tension of the situation, felt the heat in the room escalate. Chanyeol’s hands went to his shoulders and then they moved to his head, the man’s long fingers twining in Baekhyun’s hair strands. The smaller hated having the other so close, hated it and wanted to move away.

Chanyeol pressed closer, his voice deepening and becoming huskier. One of his tears dropped onto Baekhyun’s cheek.

“Baekhyun, Baekhyun,  _ Baekhyun _ ,” he moaned, and Baekhyun then felt Chanyeol’s lips come in contact with his forehead, his teeth scraping against his sweaty hairline. Baekhyun wanted to scream, but he didn’t. He held it in. He refused to show weakness.

It was sudden. Chanyeol unexpectedly screamed, and in a moment of fear Baekhyun’s eyes flicked open and he found himself looking Chanyeol right in the eye.

It was as if the world stopped. Time froze, Chanyeol quieted, and Baekhyun’s heart raced. Everything about the taller’s posture softened, his hands loosening and slowly beginning to caress the smaller’s head. Chanyeol’s face relaxed and his lips pulled up into a relieved, tired smile. His eyes eased and swept over the other’s face, his stance becoming less intimidating as he leaned away.

Baekhyun was still, completely motionless as his eyes stayed glued to Chanyeol’s. It was an icy feeling, goosebumps washing over him. He was caught between opposing instincts to both submit and fight, so he ended up doing neither, only keeping his eyes on the male above him because it became clear: what Chanyeol wanted was his attention. If he gave Chanyeol what he wanted then he wouldn’t be hurt.

Chanyeol loosened up, sighing blissfully as if Baekhyun’s eyes saved him from whatever agony his mind had been pent up in. He lowered himself to the floor and faced Baekhyun on his side, stroking the smaller’s forearm.

Baekhyun continued to watch him, now afraid to look away.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

_ The monsters have gone away. _

_ The monsters have gone away. _

This is what he told himself.

_ Everything’s okay. _

_ Everything’s okay. _

_ Everything’s okay. _

This is what Chanyeol told himself.

They both fell asleep feeling oddly sated, oddly eerie, and oddly at peace.

 

~

 

The next few days, as Baekhyun knew them, passed similarly. Whenever Chanyeol panicked and threatened the smaller’s wellbeing, all he did was open his eyes and look at Chanyeol. The taller would relax, sit back, and meditate on himself. Baekhyun began gradually mumbling things to the other, miniscule whispers not in any shape to become conversation, but this delighted Chanyeol greatly. Chanyeol began providing water for the smaller again, though the offerings of food hadn’t come in at any increments. 

Days passed and Baekhyun’s body became too solemn, too broken down, too starved to move. The boy could hardly feel his hands or his feet, lips parted and his head in a daze. 

It was the first time in what felt like forever that Chanyeol had turned the lights on in the bathroom as he quietly sidled into the room, a bundle in his arms that Baekhyun could barely discern, his eyes blurry and nose burning with the stench of not having washed. 

Baekhyun, in his muddled state, barely recognized the action of Chanyeol carefully undoing the belt around the sink, consequently freeing his hands. He heard the taller’s deep voice vibrating against him as he was lifted and set on the other’s lap. He could do nothing but lean all of his weight on the chest beside him with the fatigue hanging like gaunt chains on his shoulders. 

Chanyeol pulled the other’s knees together and hooked his elbow under Baekhyun’s legs while wrapping his other arm around his upper body. Without the smaller knowing, Baekhyun was suddenly lifted in the air and after a few seconds, his body was enveloped in a warm blanket of water, himself being submerged into the bathtub. Baekhyun gasped, shocked by the suddenness of the change. He floundered a bit and whined in distress until soft hands embraced him and steadied him, soothing skin contacting with his own and smoothing the wrinkles in his frustration. Baekhyun leaned into the hand with a quivering sigh, feeling dizzy and tired and feeble. 

“M-M-My-My lovely B-Baekhyun,” Chanyeol mumbled from beside him. “I’m here.”

At the sound of the taller’s deep voice, Baekhyun instinctively looked up to meet his eyes. His body commanded it now; it was the natural reaction. Chanyeol wouldn’t hurt him. Not if he looked at him and paid attention to him and loved him back. The male outside of the bathtub smiled in response, leaning forward and placing a gentle kiss on Baekhyun’s forehead.

Chanyeol.

Chanyeol.

Chanyeol.

Baekhyun couldn’t help but think the man’s name over and over in his head as the latter man began peeling off Baekhyun’s now-soaked clothing, exposing his body and allowing the wretchedly dirty clothing to pile up on the tile. The smaller dazedly lifted his arms when Chanyeol asked to assist in the taking off of his shirt.

And then Baekhyun was naked. The warm, soapy water was a liberating kiss of cleanliness, bubbles drifting about the surface. Chanyeol’s hands were kind and tranquil as they mercifully began massaging Baekhyun’s tense body, and the washcloth flattened against his palm felt endlessly wonderful as he slowly scrubbed away the dirt and sweat and grime from the smaller’s arms, legs, toes, hands. 

Chanyeol was simply shivering with delight. He rejoiced in the sensation of being able to touch his love, clean the boy of the bad sorrows he’d dealt with for the last few…weeks? It had been about two weeks, hadn’t it? More? Or…less?

Chanyeol savored Baekhyun’s long, athletic but soft muscles, his milky, creamy skin, every little mole and dimple that rippled on his back. 

Oh, Baekhyun was ethereal.

Chanyeol listened carefully to the other’s steady, sore tone of breathing: the most prominent sound that filled the cold bathroom. He flattened his palm over the smaller male’s rising and falling back moving with every in and exhalation. 

The taller was meticulous and wary when washing Baekhyun’s more tender areas, not unnoticing when his love hiccupped in surprise as his hand moved over the smaller male’s cock. Baekhyun tensed, but Chanyeol worked quickly not wanting to distress the other. After a minute he pulled away, blushing furiously.

He’d just…felt Baekhyun’s dick.

_ Holy shit. _

Chanyeol didn’t know what to do. He’d unintentionally enjoyed it a lot, too much for his own good. He noticed Baekhyun was looking away and almost thought he witnessed a pink tinge to the said male’s cheeks. But he waved the thought away; it was probably just the heat of the water.

However Chanyeol was endlessly curious and couldn’t help himself. Slowly, very slowly, he dipped his hand back under the wavering aqua surface and mildly knocked his hand between the smaller’s legs once again. Baekhyun was unexpectedly quiet as Chanyeol’s hand loosely stroked down the length of his cock, fingers each running over the hot cleft at the tip. It was then that Baekhyun shuddered visibly, his head dipped low.

His curiosity having been satisfied Chanyeol pulled away again and, feeling rather stupefied, he plodded to where he could reach Baekhyun’s head and began kneading his scalp with shampoo and such to run the oils out.

It was going to be a long night, Chanyeol decided. And he didn’t mind that idea one bit.

 

~

 

The two sat at the kitchen counter in silence. There was no dinner table and sitting atop uncomfortable stools didn’t promote cuddling and skinship very well, especially when the chances of falling off were tragically high. Chanyeol straightened in his seat when Baekhyun brought the small bowl cradled in his hands up to his lips to sip, the scent of tomato chili soup wafting throughout the space and providing a warm hearth of incense. 

Chanyeol had dressed Baekhyun in a loose pair of underwear (his own, because he didn’t have any others and didn’t have any pants that would fit him either), a supersized t-shirt, and a thin little cardigan that sagged off of the man’s small shoulders like a shawl. Baekhyun’s hair was stuck up at all sorts of geometric, odd ends, still damp and his face still shiny and red from the bath. Next to Baekhyun Chanyeol figured he looked pretty dumpy, but couldn’t find it in him to care. As long as Baekhyun was there he couldn’t have a care in the world about anything.

“Baekhyun…Baekhyun…oh, Baekhyun…” he muttered. 

_ See? What did I tell you? This is what you’ve wanted isn’t it? Did I not tell you to trust me? _

“You did,” Chanyeol whispered, really to himself. Baekhyun slurped up more soup, unblinking.

_ He’s yours. What are you going to do with him? _

“L-L-Lo-Love him of c-course,” the taller mumbled almost inaudibly. “Give him all the love in the w-world.” He smiled lovingly and rested his head in his hand, his elbow on the counter facing the other. 

_ That’s all? Stupid, stupid Chanyeol. Don’t you see that you can do anything now? _

“What do you mean?”

_ Don’t you want to be inside him? Don’t you want to hear him moaning your name, screaming with pleasure? You want to feel pleasure too. Chanyeol, I know you want it. _

The male suddenly sat up, his heart skipping a beat. He quickly shook his head. “N-N-N-N-No-No-No, not i-if he-he doesn’t want t-t-to.”

_ Yes, you will. _

“S-S-S-Stop. I-I won’t. He’s perf-fect alr-ready, I don’t need anything m-more.”

Chanyeol was very sure of this answer. He couldn’t ask anything else of Baekhyun, not when he was faithfully dedicated to the smaller, ready to drop to his knees in his presence. He was positive that he wouldn’t ever dare hurt Baekhyun or force anything on him; that would’ve been wrong and gone against every piece of his soul. 

_ Hm. We’ll see. _

Chanyeol hated his subconscious at times.

 

Baekhyun was rather quiet and distant as he gulped down more food, appreciative of Chanyeol’s shockingly palatable cooking. The boy just couldn’t find things to say. He figured the other couldn’t have been able to cook at all but he was surely mistaken. 

Adorned in his soft baggy clothing Baekhyun couldn’t help feeling somewhat self-conscious about his exposed skin, his body naturally reminiscent of unkind nights with Wu Yifan. He stole occasional peeks at Chanyeol when the taller wasn’t looking, unsure if he was afraid or enamored with the man next to him. Baekhyun was beyond frustrated with how convoluted the situation was: was he kidnapped? The answer had to have been yes, he was, but although Baekhyun’s memory was usually sharp as a pin, he found himself struggling to recall simple events that had to have occurred in the near past. 

He remembered feeling fear and anger and desperation. Desperation, oh that feeling was drilled into his bones and he couldn’t understand it or where it had come from. But quite frankly he was feeling anxious and needy and only restful when Chanyeol was around.

Chanyeol saved him.

He fed him, didn’t he?

Bathed him, held him.

Chanyeol did save him.

Baekhyun flinched. Something about it just didn’t seem to fit right though. Chanyeol had tied him to the bathroom sink and left him there to starve and suffer through his numerous panic attacks. Chanyeol had threatened him with a gun.

Baekhyun sipped the soup from the bowl. No. That had been only a dream. That’s all it could have been…Chanyeol wouldn’t do that to him…

He looked up to the taller’s captivated face and found himself unable to look away. How Chanyeol watched him with wide gleaming eyes and smiled, how he touched him and moved him with such protection and yet freedom at the same time, Baekhyun couldn’t imagine why Chanyeol would have put him through so much trauma unless it was for good.

That’s it. Chanyeol…it was for Baekhyun’s own good. Chanyeol knew best, because Chanyeol saved him from his monsters.

At the thought, Baekhyun shivered. As soon as he did he felt large, warm arms envelop him from behind from where he sat on the kitchen stool. Baekhyun didn’t pull away.

A pair of lips ghosted his earlobe and a hot breath licked the inside of his ear.

“Will you come w-with me-me-me please? I h-h-have something to show you.”

Under full command of that voice Baekhyun slipped off of the barstool as their two hands collected together between them and Chanyeol pulled the other along. The apartment looked like a completely different place now: not that it had changed at all, but Baekhyun wasn’t looking at it with terror anymore, but rather with indifference. 

They strode through the kitchen and then to the hall where the bathroom loomed in the ominous shadows threateningly. They passed the room canvased with a map of Baekhyun’s lifestyle and then continued, farther than Baekhyun had gone before. Past a bedroom and down to the very end: on one side was a large closed door and on the other was another, and this one Chanyeol went through after showing a large toothy grin to the other male.

They pushed inside the dark room shaded by the pulled curtains. It was obviously spacious by the way every one of their sounds echoed and Baekhyun’s bare feet immediately chilled as he shuffled across the cold floor. The darkness was a shock at first, but as their eyes adjusted Baekhyun could discern the one object in the otherwise empty expanse of space.

A grand piano. Beautiful, black, sleek, alluring. Baekhyun gasped and in turn began tugging Chanyeol towards the instrument without a second thought. 

He sat down with a fluttering heart, almost moved to tears. The piano was something familiar, something that would always be the same. It’s all he wanted then: to have something familiar and comforting. 

Instinctively his hands had floated up to the ivory keyboard without hesitation, and he leaned into some melodic sonata that his fingers delightfully atoned to. His entire body relaxed and became supple as the instrument wept with graceful melancholy; it’s soughs of emotion at the command of Baekhyun’s willing hands. The presence of sound, of perspiring clouds and awakening sunbeams and small breaths of early life, was poignant and it touched both young men deeply.

Baekhyun’s eyes fluttered closed as he fell into his own meditative, peaceful state (which was something he didn’t do at all really, he had too much energy for meditation) and Chanyeol leaned into Baekhyun’s shoulder with a sigh of blissfulness. 

This was it. What Chanyeol had been wanting and wishing for. Baekhyun was his everything, his entire world, and his purpose for living. 

When Baekhyun finished his piece he played another. And another. And another. And then repeated some. His soul ached for healing and it was through the piano that he found liberation and composure.

Eventually he reached a point where his fingers tired and his body sagged with fatigue. Chanyeol was there to catch him though before he could fall off of the bench… 

Chanyeol.

Chanyeol.

Chanyeol.

Baekhyun leaned onto Chanyeol then, wanting nothing more than to please him and be that near to him. As tired as he was, the body heat and welcoming aura beside him was enough to lull him into calm. 

Chanyeol.

Chanyeol.

Chanyeol.

Chanyeol loved him. More than Yifan ever did, more than anyone ever had. Baekhyun wanted to stay right there with him, wanted to hold and be held by him, wanted to nuzzle into his arms and feel safe and at home. Chanyeol was home. Chanyeol would never hurt him. Chanyeol saved him.

Baekhyun was tired, though very much aware when the taller pulled him into his lap, locking his hands together under the smaller’s butt as he stood. Baekhyun naturally wrapped his arms around Chanyeol’s neck and buried his face there, hooking his ankles around the taller’s back as he was carried like a small child. 

Chanyeol slumped out of the grand piano room carefully as to not disturb the smaller one in his arms. He experienced an immense sense of both dominance and a need to protect, to comfort. This wasn’t easy for Baekhyun, he knew. According to his studies as a psychology major, his lovely would be at risk of PTSD, anxiety, social disorders, and personality disorders as a result of what he may have experienced…but Chanyeol would heal him. That he was sure.

Down the hall he swayed into the one bedroom of the house, also shaded by the pulled window curtains. Baekhyun moaned into his neck, holding tighter as Chanyeol sat down on the edge of the bed. The sound was deathly enticing and it made the taller’s stomach clench. 

They sat like that for several minutes: the smaller breathing onto Chanyeol’s skin, whilst the latter ran his hands up and down Baekhyun’s back in response. He couldn’t help but smile every time Baekhyun shivered when he did this.

After a while Baekhyun un-tucked himself from the other, and Chanyeol grunted unhappily in response, longing to be closer. He didn’t complain though as Baekhyun’s hands came to cup his face, soft fingers touching his jaw and cheekbones and nose. Chanyeol was patient and still as Baekhyun mapped out his face with his hands, fingers tentative as he padded about Chanyeol’s eyelids and eyebrows, ears, down the side of his face and to his mouth.

Baekhyun’s skin was soft on Chanyeol’s moist lips, parted in exasperation and allowance. From the taller’s vantage point, the boy on his lap seemed almost entranced as they were both caught up in the moment.

Daringly, Chanyeol slowly slid the tip of his tongue over the very tips of Baekhyun’s fingers as they delved deeper. The smaller boy giggled lightly and, after another moment of Chanyeol tickling the other’s digits with his tongue, Baekhyun quieted, looking into the far reaches of Chanyeol’s eyes. He looked sleepy and tousled in the most endearing way; clothing shaggy, hair messy, eyes glazed. Ethereal.

This is what the taller had always wanted. This. Right here.

But his heart just about stopped when Baekhyun spoke.

“Chanyeol…” Baekhyun tilted his head. “Chanyeol…I…I love you.”

“B-B-B-B-Ba-Ba-Baekyun, I l-love you too. More than anything. More than you could ever know—”

Baekhyun’s lips on his cut him off. If Chanyeol thought that he’d had everything before, he was sure he was wrong. This was so much more. His eyes shut and brows furrowed in concentration as he leaned up against Baekhyun’s body and kissed the boy back willingly.

Oh, this was not just a kiss, Chanyeol thought. This was ecstasy. This was enlightenment. This was the woo of perfection itself. His heart burst with happiness and pride and a sudden desperation, a need for more. 

He couldn’t say he wasn’t shocked by Baekhyun’s decision to kiss him, and was gentle as he ate away at the other’s mouth and vise versa. Lust churned within him, unable to be subdued. But he forced himself to stay reminded not to push anything, not until Baekhyun was ready.

_ Take him _ , the voices said.  _ Take him now and fill him. Make him scream _ .

Chanyeol growled angrily in reply, but Baekhyun must have interpreted this differently because he pressed himself against Chanyeol’s body with a groan, teeth scraping the taller’s lips dangerously. Baekhyun tried to scoot himself up higher on the other’s legs as his hands began roaming, tugging at the larger’s shirt. 

It made Chanyeol chuckle, but out of concern he sternly took Baekhyun’s wrists in his own and forced the two apart, his eyes watching Baekhyun dutifully and with unease. The smaller pouted with a scowl and a whimper. “Chanyeol—”

“Baekhyun. Don’t. I don’t want you to think—”

“I want it Chanyeol.” Baekhyun began mouthing down the taller’s jaw, but Chanyeol hastily pulled his head away to have him meet eyes.

“Please Baekhyun. If you’re not ready, I…I-I-I don’t want to if you’re not ready.”

_ You want him Chanyeol. Take him now. _

Baekhyun’s eyelids fluttered. “I want it. I want you, Chanyeol.”

His words were enough to seal the deal. This time Chanyeol didn’t protest but allowed himself to be pushed down onto his back, Baekhyun settling over him. The taller male bloomed with joy as Baekhyun leaned down and pressed their salivating mouths together and began kneading. His slim fingers wasted no time skimming down Chanyeol’s shirt, tangoing with the small buttons running the length of his chest. The smaller’s tongue, brazen and bold, was plenty distracting and Chanyeol made sure to respond with full passion. This was real—this was real. 

He didn’t even notice Baekhyun had pushed his shirt open and had successfully been slipping it off of his body until the smaller male’s hands began travelling. Baekhyun lifted his lips away from Chanyeol’s and they both found themselves breathing heavily with the lack of air. Chanyeol could feel the tensing of Baekhyun’s thigh muscles around his hips, could feel his every shift of weight, could feel the heat and sweat collecting on his body. “B-B-B-Ba-Ba-Baek—”

Chanyeol didn’t finish what he was going to say, however, because his chest clenched once he felt Baekhyun’s lips, soft and silky as flower petals, mouthing underneath his chin and waltzing down his throat. The taller male on the bed closed his eyes and allowed his head to roll back, basking in his ecstasy. Baekhyun’s mischievous fingers drew down Chanyeol’s sides and hooked on his hipbones as his mouth began exploring the vast scape of Chanyeol’s chest.

One of Chanyeol’s abstracted moans was interrupted by his sudden gasp: Baekhyun had found his way to the taller’s nipple and had begun excavating there, tongue flicking, lips mouthing, teeth nipping. Chanyeol squirmed with both pleasure and mild discomfort, feeling odd beneath his lover. Admittedly, in all of his past imagines, he had always pictured himself on top. Chanyeol had to confess that he wasn’t a particularly an authoritative, masculine man…but at that moment, his stomach lurched with a need to display his dominance.

While Baekhyun was distracted with his nub, Chanyeol swiftly shifted out from underneath him and swung his body over the other. Baekhyun dropped onto his back with a surprised gasp, his arms splayed to the sides and Chanyeol’s hands planted beside the smaller’s head. 

Chanyeol swore he almost fainted. This was much better. He blinked several times and then reached down to run his thumb across stray drop of saliva off of Baekhyun’s bottom lip, watching Baekhyun’s amused reaction. The boy smirked and then, in response, lifted his hands and flicked Chanyeol’s hardened nipples. The taller yelped and, before Baekhyun could burst out into giggles, hurriedly ripped his shirt off finally and dropped onto his elbows to mash their lips together for another time.

Their lips against each other were a malleable push and pull, Baekhyun fighting for superiority and control. But Chanyeol growled and made it clear who was in charge by pulling away and allowing his lips to linger just out of reach of Baekhyun’s. The smaller boy flicked his tongue up to try and meet them, but after several failed attempts he flopped back down with a huff, small begs in the form of whispers dropping out of his mouth uncontrollably. Having absorbed his fill of whimpers, Chanyeol obliged and saved them both by connecting their mouths once again. He didn’t mind taking his time with Baekhyun and his body, wanting to experience everything about the other male and every inch of him that he could possibly.

After sucking on Baekhyun’s lips until they were puckered and swollen, Chanyeol kissed pristinely across the boy’s cheeks to his ear, the taller’s tongue grazing lusciously over the folds in the smaller’s ear. Baekhyun whimpered and pulled Chanyeol closer, bodies matted together.

Chanyeol, dazed and blissful, began mouthing down his jaw and throat, nibbling and biting and leaving all sorts of marks. 

It was then that they both realized Baekhyun’s clothes were still on. Hastily, Chanyeol—with the smaller’s assistance—shimmied off the cardigan, the oversized t-shirt, and wool socks until all he was clad in were the extra large underwear, but soon those were gone too.

Chanyeol leaned back to examine Baekhyun completely, reveling in the smaller’s piqued position. Damn, he had never felt this way before. So dominant, so desperate to prove himself, so in love with the person beneath him. 

Baekhyun tilted his head. “Why are you just sitting there? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

Chanyeol swallowed. “Y-Y-You’re s-so beautiful.”

Baekhyun, for a moment, looked flattered, until he lightly snorted and suddenly sported a very mischievous expression. “And you’re cheesy.”

Chanyeol groaned and began moving his hips, rubbing against Baekhyun. The smaller male gasped and clutched the bedcovers – it felt unrealistically good.

And yet…as the night wore on and the two shared countless intimacies of exasperated breaths and perfect touches and lustful bites, Baekhyun couldn’t ignore the underlying fear within him.

Was Chanyeol going to hurt him?  _ Could _ he hurt him? he thought as Chanyeol’s fingers scissored within him, drawing out gargled gasps.

And as Chanyeol pushed into him precariously and forcefully, and as Baekhyun screamed his name and writhed and cried out in blissful pain, pleasure like none other, he couldn’t stop the silent words from mouthing from his lips.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

Chanyeol dominated him that night—the man proved to be darker than what Baekhyun had assumed. The shy blushes and gentle touches that had occurred in the bathroom did not compare. Chanyeol had Baekhyun begging, quivering beneath him, making the most erotic sounds and cries Chanyeol had ever heard. He had Baekhyun coming again and again with rough hands as he forcefully thrusted until Baekhyun was blacking out on him. 

But there it was: the attention that he so craved. Baekhyun knew the pattern, and bathed Chanyeol in such love that the latter was groaning in bliss. Pain meant more love. Give more love. Love Chanyeol.

And he did.

Perhaps in the nights that followed, their lovemaking was less dangerous. But this? It set the stage for what Chanyeol was capable of—fear and passion swirled in Baekhyun’s abdomen as Chanyeol licked and kissed and held him. Baekhyun learned how much Chanyeol loved it when he arched his back and how much he liked the sounds of Baekhyun’s helplessness. It only riled him up further.

And as they cuddled impossibly close, their legs entangled and Chanyeol’s arms cocooned the smaller male protectively, as if anyone could walk in at that moment and take him away, Baekhyun questioned for the first time why he was even here.

His thoughts were disrupted by Chanyeol’s velvety voice, though, as he whispered droopily in Baekhyun’s ear, “You’re staying with me Baekhyun. We can live like this all the time. You and I will live so beautifully together, we can be so, so happy. I love you so much Baekhyun.”

Baekhyun was careful not to make too much of a scene – Chanyeol was watching his every move, every flinch in his face, but the words got caught in his throat, unable to come out.

Throat hoarse from the night’s intense vocalizations, Baekhyun whispered, “I—I…” He hid his face in Chanyeol’s bare chest and his fingers idly skimming over the other man’s hot skin. “I…Chanyeol…”  _ I love you _ . “I—”

“You love me too,” Chanyeol inferred, a proud grin brightening his face. He pressed the two of them closer, their bodies sticky with sweat and cum and saliva. It didn’t bother either of them, since it was only natural, but Baekhyun’s stomach clenched with uncertainty. He…he did love Chanyeol, didn’t he?

Yes…yes he…

He loved Chanyeol.

“Chanyeol?” Baekhyun inquired softly, timidly. Chanyeol grunted in acknowledgement. The smaller gulped. “I…Chanyeol, don’t ever let me go.”

“Don’t worry my precious Baekhyun. I won’t.”

 

~

 

Only Chanyeol heard the incredible chorus of voices screeching at him within his head. The words that shrieked in pleasure knowing he had taken Baekhyun for himself. Only he heard the terrifying demands to keep punishing, keep taking, keep being selfish, keep showing Baekhyun his rightful place.

“But we’re equal,” Chanyeol muttered under his breath, eyebrows furrowed.

“Hmm?” Baekhyun hummed. Chanyeol petted the other male back into sleepiness.

_ You have him now Chanyeol, the voices said. Didn’t I tell you? Don’t you trust me completely now? _

Chanyeol tried to block the terrible voices, hugging Baekhyun close for comfort. He shook with anxiety, wanting to be rid of those whispers and shouts and jeers.

_ Stupid, stupid, Chanyeol. Baekhyun will never really love you. _

_ It was all for nothing. _

_ Keep him here. Make him love you. _

_ You’re not good enough for him. _

_ You’ll never be perfect. How could you taint such an angel? _

“But you said that it was alright! You said that this was the right way!”

“Chanyeol?” Baekhyun lovingly caressed the taller’s arm and kissed his jaw. “Chanyeol, what’s wrong?”

Chanyeol didn’t answer. He wanted the voices to be silent. He just wanted to love Baekhyun and not be controlled by such demons in his mind.

“Everything’s okay,” he mumbled into Baekhyun’s hair. “Everything is going to be okay.”

 

_ Baekhyun will never leave this place. He can never leave. _

 

~

 

(3/3)

 

Things went smoothly for about a week and a half after that night.

Baekhyun and Chanyeol were content sharing meals, cuddling in bed, reading books, sharing love poems, napping, conversing and making love as long as they were together. Baekhyun avoided the bathroom floor as much as was possible, always feeling a little sickened when he went near it. He couldn’t help but be contentedly complacent and allow Chanyeol to place eager, loving hugs around his waist and happy kisses down the pale column of his throat. Most days, though, he spent at the piano, clinging to the ivory keyboard and playing until his hands wore out and he slumped against it sleepily. Sometimes Chanyeol got impatient with him and forced him away from the instrument in a scolding tone. Baekhyun would cower away and kiss Chanyeol’s jaw until the latter subsided and settled down. It was a tipsy, yet loving sort of week and a half.

Things changed when Baekhyun spoke up one morning during a breakfast of cheesecake ( _ So there was cheesecake! _ , thought Baekhyun, recalling the day he awoke on the couch).

“Chanyeol,” he mused, wide-eyed. “I want to go outside today.”

The taller’s head immediately snapped up in alarm. “W-W-What?”

Baekhyun smiled with a quirk, but Chanyeol didn’t respond it. “Well we’ve been inside for so long…I…I feel pretty cooped up in here.” When Chanyeol gave him a dark glower, Baekhyun quickly mended his words. “I mean it’s not that I don’t like being here—with you—but there are a lot of things to do outside! I just feel a little…like…uh…a little imprisoned—”

Chanyeol jumped out of his stool and slammed the counter with an iron fist, startling Baekhyun into silence. The larger was breathing heavily, tensely. “Yo-You’re not a prisoner here,” he murmured under his breath. 

Immediately Baekhyun felt something off. Chanyeol’s seething tone told him so.

Baekhyun moved closer to Chanyeol, making sure to enact the bribery skills he’d collected in the recent past: looking Chanyeol in the eye, holding onto him, tilting his head, smiling, flattery. “I’m not saying that I am, really. I still want to spend time with you, Chanyeol. You’re the most beautiful person in my life. You take such good care of me. You’re perfect, my love. But we can spend time together outside. We can’t stay in here forever.”

“We can!” the taller man screamed suddenly, grasping his love and tugging him close. Baekhyun held his breath against Chanyeol’s chest, surprised that his tactics didn’t work. Usually he could get anything he wanted from Chanyeol. “You and I will stay here. We can’t go outside.”

“But you go outside to get groceries, Chanyeol,” said Baekhyun innocently. “I just need some fresh air.”

He held onto Chanyeol lovingly, but couldn’t avoid the latter’s accusing glare. “N-No. I said no, Baekhyun.”

 

~

 

If Baekhyun wasn’t such a little shit maybe things would have turned out differently.

Chanyeol was out on his regular shopping spree. They had run out of cheesecake and Chanyeol was going to get his love some new piano sheet music. It had been two days since their encounter over leaving the building and by this time the little pianist had gone through every book—of course neglecting the ones that didn’t peak his interest—paced the entire house, scoured the refrigerator a dozen times a day, inspected every photo of himself in Chanyeol’s collection, and had as much fun as he could when Chanyeol was away, which was often. The giant was in and out these last two days. When he was home he clung to Baekhyun violently, not letting him go. 

But today was one of those unsteady, in and out days.

And Baekhyun was determined to go outside.

He crept down the hall towards the piano room, but instead of turning left like he usually would, today he turned right to the entry door. The one space he hadn’t examined yet.

Dressed permanently in pajamas, his bed head a fluffy crown atop his head, he slipped towards the entrance. He wasn’t sure why he felt so scandalous doing this—it wasn’t like Chanyeol was here, or anyone was watching.

_ Chanyeol spied on you for months without you ever winking an eye _ , he thought. But he shook his head. Chanyeol wouldn’t do that anymore.

But as Baekhyun stood in front of what should have been the entrance, bewilderment took hold of him.

There was no door.

He reached out and patted the wall void of any sort of obvious exit. He frowned and stepped closer, scraping at the wallpaper.

There was no door.

He had begun to panic without even knowing it. He knocked all over it in search of some sort of hollow sound, clawed at the walls looking for cracks, and pounded the surface as if he would find a hidden doorknob or something.

Something!

“Ch-Chanyeol?” he called, unsure of what he was even doing. He was positive he’d seen Chanyeol come and go from this spot before, even just this morning. He was positive. He pawed at the wall, feeling suddenly claustrophobic. “Chanyeol? Hello?”

Where was the exit?

Baekhyun spun around and bolted into the piano room. He scoured the walls in search of a door.

Nothing.

Then through the halls. He skidded back and forth rubbing down the space. 

Nothing.

He scrambled around the entire apartment. 

No exit.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

He ripped Chanyeol’s photos off of his wall in the office, pushed everything away from the table. He had begun to sweat and his clothes felt heavy on his body. He swam through Chanyeol’s memorabilia of himself.

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

“Oh my god,” he breathed, running frustrated hands through his scalp. What happened? What was going on? Was he dreaming? Where did Chanyeol go again?

Then into the bedroom where he and Chanyeol had shared much pretty sensitivity, sheets still rumpled from last night. He threw the blankets away and barraged the closet.

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

He held his breath. He wasn’t going to cry. He wouldn’t. He needed to stay calm—Chanyeol was going to be back soon. It will be okay then. He could just stay in Chanyeol’s arms…

He sobbed and covered his face with his hands.

_ No! I’m not weak! I’m not! _

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

Within the next few minutes the rest of the flat was torn to pieces. Baekhyun skittered to every corner, discovering dead rats, broken glass remnants of Chanyeol’s panic attacks, and books about Stockholm Syndrome. But no exit.

He dropped down onto the floor beside the couch where he had woken up, hugging his knees close and pulling on his hair nervously. Was he a prisoner?

No. Chanyeol loved him.

He was not a prisoner of Chanyeol. 

He cried out in frustration and thorough confusion, unable to understand what situation this was.

Baekhyun’s elbow bumped the couch and shifted one of the cushions to the side. He glanced over at something dark that caught his eye.

A gun.

_ The _ gun.

Baekhyun sat there, petrified. The only other time he’d been so close to a gun was when Chanyeol…pointed one at his face. He stared at the foreign contraption. He had never held a gun either, never even touched one. Guns were the stuffs of action movies and spy films, of novels about drug cartels and gangs. But there it was, sitting right there in front of him. Baekhyun gulped as if it would go off if he only moved. 

But as he wiped the tears from his face the small man leaned over and ran his fingers across it. Was the safety on? He didn’t know. Very slowly he took hold of the black pistol—it was much heavier than he thought it would be, and it dragged his weak wrists down. Shivering, he examined the deadly weapon, unsure if it was loaded or not. He didn’t know anything about guns—he never had any reason to. His parents had never owned any sorts of weapons. He was going to be a pianist, and Chanyeol was going to be there by his side to protect him. He had no need for a gun. 

But nothing, not even his own conscience, stopped him from taking the pistol in to hands and standing up, sniffling and eyes flickering about the space jumpily. Chanyeol wasn’t here, but the hair on the back of his neck tingled as it stood on end. He felt like an ant under a magnifying glass; heat trickled down into his gut uncomfortably and he felt incredibly small, much like he did that night Chanyeol…took him home.

Yet the gun in his hand seemed incredibly large in his white-knuckled, fair-handed grip.

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

He stepped through the threshold between the living room and kitchen, trembling from head to toe.

“Chanyeol?” he called. “Chanyeol?”

His feet and bare legs were tremendously cold in the eerie draft of the apartment.

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

The floor creaked and hummed in the tense, daring silence. Someone was watching. He was sure of it. Teeth chattering he inched along—he wasn’t even sure what the threat was. He was alone.

He stopped halfway through the kitchen, gun clutched tight in his pale hands. His toes clenched and he glanced around, sweating profusely.

“Chanyeol?”

And then his eyes slid over to the window beside him. Hardly any light glinted through them and the panes of glass were caked with dust and grime. Baekhyun’s handprints from that first day were still visible from when he had slapped the glass. 

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

The shivering man sidled up to the window, not expecting to see anything there; just that odd slab of concrete on the other side. He eyed the windowsills, wondering if this flat was several stories up or on ground level.

And then his focus changed and two petrified eyes appeared in front of him, shocking him. He screamed and jumped back, pointing the gun at the glass with shaking hands, sensing a threat.

But it hit him. Baekhyun was staring at his own reflection. He stood and waited for that other man in the reflection to move, to smile, to put the gun down and walk away with Jongdae’s arm around his shoulder, laughing. What did his laugh sound like? He couldn’t remember. His face somehow seemed more sallow than he recalled—cheekbones greenish and eerily prominent. The foreign sight of deep red love bites glowed in the vague light—those weren’t Yifan’s marks. There was something dazed and vacant in his eyes, lacking of the life and depth he was used to waking up to in the morning and seeing in the mirror as he brushed his teeth before going to class.

Class. Wasn’t he in college? What has he been doing all this time, not showing up? 

Hell, what was he  _ doing here? _

Baekhyun glared at his reflection, the barrel of the gun angled at his own chest, and suddenly his breath got caught in his throat as tears streamed soundlessly down his cheeks.

From elsewhere in the apartment Chanyeol’s voice picked up the pieces of silence.

“Baekhyun?” the man called, sounding urgent. The said male pounced into the kitchen, plastic shopping bags dangling from his hands and his hair oddly messy, and he immediately froze.

Baekhyun turned his head to see Chanyeol. “Channie,” he whimpered, eyes taking in his lover’s anxious form. “I’m going crazy. You have to get me out of here.” His voice was ragged and pleading.

_ He can never leave! _ screamed Chanyeol’s voices.  _ He can never leave! _

Chanyeol shook his head and carefully set the heavy bags down onto the floor.

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

“Baekhyun,” he whispered, coming towards the smaller. At first Baekhyun turned to face him, weapon lowered only slightly, but Chanyeol didn’t seem phased by the pistol at all. He stepped right up and wrapped Baekhyun in his arms and enjoyed the perfect mesh of their bodies, soaking up his love’s musky scent. “C-Calm d-down. Everything’s okay.”

Baekhyun wanted to settle down in the taller man’s arms and just roll over, ready to sleep and never wake as long as Chanyeol was there. He wanted to. He really did. The smaller man tried to will himself to wrap his own arms around Chanyeol and tell him he loved him…but he couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

“Chanyeol…” he coughed achingly.

“Shh. It’s alright.”

“Chanyeol, Chanyeol no—”

“Qu-Quiet. Stay here. Stay here forever.”

“Chanyeol no—”

“You’re mine. I love you. You’re perfect. You can’t leave.”

“No! No Chanyeol—” He had started to push against the other’s chest, but the taller held him tighter.

“Y-Y-Y-You aren’t leaving…”

“Chanyeol!”

_ Show him who’s in charge. Show him who’s dominant _ , hissed the voices.

“Chanyeol!”

The taller’s fingers wound tightly into Baekhyun’s hair and held rigidly, pushing the smaller’s face into his chest.

“Chanyeol!”

“Y-You’re mine. Y-Y-You’re not leaving.”

“N-No, please—”

“The world is so ugly. But you, Baekhyun, you’re so beautiful—”

“Chanyeol—”

The taller man wrapped his other arm around the smaller’s back possessively as if hiding him from the walls. His grip on his hair tightened. “I love you. I love you.”

“Let go  _ please _ !”

“Baekhyun…”

“Chanyeol!”

“Baekhy—”

“ _ I can’t breathe _ !” Baekhyun shoved the other man away violently with a shriek. He wheezed heavily, the pistol heavy in his hand and he hastily wiped his tears. He loved Chanyeol.

No he didn’t.

He did.

Baekhyun pulled the gun close to him, hugging it to his chest. He didn’t want to shoot Chanyeol. Chanyeol wouldn’t hurt him. And he wasn’t going to shoot himself but…but  _ what should he do _ ?

“Baekhyun,” Chanyeol tried to reason, but the smaller shook his head.

“I’m scared Channie,” he whispered. “I don’t recognize myself anymore. I don’t recognize you.”

The taller man took a step forward, face creased with worry. “N-No, B-B-Baekhyun, don’t b-be afraid.”

“Let me out!” Baekhyun shouted, sobs wracking his body. “I promise I’ll come back! I promise! But let me go! Just for a few hours.”

“No!” bellowed Chanyeol, and the boy cowered away.

_ He’s yours. Punish him. Make him obey. _

“God you’re such a hypocrite!” Chanyeol screamed at the ceiling, at the voices. Baekhyun took another step back.

_ He’s misbehaving. Take control. Stupid, stupid Chanyeol _ . 

“I won’t!” he howled back, turning in circles and running a hand through his dark locks. “I won’t hurt him! How can I do that?”

“Stop!” screeched Baekhyun, back against the wall and the gun tucked close as if it was his only lifeline. “Stop talking to yourself, Chanyeol!”

The taller whipped around to face the smaller. “ _ What _ ?”

Baekhyun shook his head fearfully. “You’re always doing it. Always. I’ve been trying to get you to stop listening to whatever you’re hearing, but you never pay attention. I don’t know what’s wrong. You say there’s nothing wrong.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes, trembling. “But I know there is. You say that you love me more than anything—I believe it, I know you love me, but there’s something you cling to and idolize more than me.”

Chanyeol shook his head vehemently and strode towards Baekhyun, panicked. “No! How could you say that?”

“How could you  _ deny _ it?” Baekhyun retorted. “Those voices have always been more important than me, and even so, you’re always fighting them! What are they saying? What are they saying, Chanyeol?”

The tall man halted in his step, hand outreached to his lover. What was that look of fear in Baekhyun’s eyes? That fear seemed confused, panicked. He had said he was scared, and Chanyeol could see it; the bitterness of terror and the wide eyes…but he realized that as Baekhyun watched him intently, there was still a tinge of affection there. Of endearment.

Baekhyun wasn’t afraid of him.

He was afraid of Chanyeol’s voices.

They both were.

Chanyeol shivered. “What they’re…saying?”

Baekhyun nodded.

“B-B-Bad th-things. Always b-bad. Evil things. Scary things.”

The smaller blinked with a hint of difficulty and choked out, “Then why do you listen to them?”

“I-I-I-I can’t s-stop them. They n-n-never s-stop t-talking.”

“You’re a psychology major in college, Channie. Don’t you know what it is? What those voices are?”

The taller shook his head. “I-I-I t-take the classes I-I do because I’m t-trying t-t-to figure it out. I-I’m n-not schizophrenic or psychopathic…I just…I’m obsessive compulsive and that’s it.” He took another step towards Baekhyun. “B-But that’s why I-I-I love you. You’re the one thing in the universe that I don’t need to fix or perfect. You’re already perfect.”

Baekhyun shook his head as Chanyeol reached out for him and took hold of his arm, regarding the latter’s hand as if it was the jaw of a venomous snake. “Chanyeol, you can’t live like this.”

“I-I-I can live fine as l-long as y-y-you’re here. Y-Y-You make my life w-worth l-living, Baekhyun.”

Once again the smaller male was pulled into Chanyeol’s arms. But his time the taller reached for the pistol and fear skyrocketed in Baekhyun’s throat. He turned away, facing away from the other and Chanyeol frowned disapprovingly. “Baekhyun—”

“No.”

“P-Please give me the g-g-gun.”

“No.”

“Baekhyun.”

“Let me out of here, Chanyeol,” whispered Baekhyun. Chanyeol’s arms slithered around his body, pinning his arms down to his sides.

“No.”

Nothing.

No exit.

_ The monsters have gone away. _

“I’m sorry,” Baekhyun mewled just before jerking out of Chanyeol’s arms, throwing his hand out with the gun in his grasp directly at the glass window. The trigger snapped under his finger and an ear-breaking shock of sound fractured throughout the room alongside his own cry.

The window shattered as the bullet made contact and Baekhyun leaped forward, ready jump. Shards of glass went flying—

And then they stopped. As if in a dream, some sick, surreal dream, the remnants of the window flying through space halted midair.

The room started shattering too.

Chanyeol’s body coiled around Baekhyun’s protectively and now the smaller wasn’t fighting him as bits and pieces of the atmosphere around them broke into pieces and splintered, disintegrating into nothingness. Baekhyun screamed and they both fell to their knees in shock, Chanyeol’s body turtle-shelling over his own. The floor disappeared, the walls, the ceiling—everything!

Then suddenly chaos had ended. The two men huddled on the floor together for a stifled moment before Baekhyun finally opened his eyes, adrenaline coursing through his veins like wildfire.

They were nowhere: a white room with no discernable features. At last the splinters of the window fell to the ground, sounding like a pack of miniature holiday bells. But that was the only sound. Clutching onto each other, Chanyeol and Baekhyun cowered under the startlingly bright, florescent white room. 

“Ch-Chanyeol…” whispered Baekhyun, stricken by the sudden trauma.

The taller male pet his head. “Baekhyun…”

They both jumped and gasped as the hiss of an automatic doorway echoed through the empty space and a passage appeared out of nothing. Immediately a horde of dark-clad figures with oddly shaped weapons flooded the room, shouting at the two men in flurried, muffled voices. Soldiers. Of some sort…

They weren’t of any resemblance of the modern solders that Baekhyun or Chanyeol were familiar with. Their suits were tighter, darker, and their faces shielded. The clothing seemed remarkably futuristic and their guns glistened a menacing black.

Baekhyun huddled under Chanyeol’s arms, but the taller was too petrified to rejoice in this. They shivered beneath the scrutiny of over a dozen gun barrels.

But Baekhyun had glanced back to that doorway—through it he only could discern black and muted blue colors—but it was who stood in front and just inside that doorway that took Baekhyun’s breath away.

“Yifan?” he breathed, almost inaudibly. Chanyeol’s head snapped to the man standing at the door.

There he was. The tall male wore a deadly, satisfied smirk and his heavy hair was pushed back under a slick layer of oil. He was adorned in a gray, military-like suit with bright patches along his left breast and biceps—professional looking and sinister, but also strangely foreign. Chanyeol sensed Baekhyun tense in his arms—all of this was bizarre and grossly sci-fi-like. 

The man known as Wu Yifan spoke only two words, delivered with a grin and a chilly stature as his eyes bore into Chanyeol’s.

“Seize him.”

Chanyeol released Baekhyun to throw his hands up and protect himself from the onslaught of limbs coming down to grab him. He hated being touched.  _ Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me _ . All those  _ germs _ .

But despite Chanyeol’s vigorous flailing and yowls of protest, he still ended up on his stomach with his hands pinned behind his back and a knee on his spine. He was in the middle of cussing them all when Baekhyun’s voice cut towards him like a hot arrow through butter, stinging his ears when he heard.

“ _ Chanyeol! _ ”

It was a screech, a cry for help. Chanyeol looked beyond the nearest soldier and felt like he was going to be sick.

Baekhyun was being manhandled onto his back with an entire flock of many soldiers flooding him. The boy cried out and kicked as the faceless figures restrained him and tore off his shirt and pants, leaving him exposed in only Chanyeol’s oversized underwear. Baekhyun shrieked and fought tooth and nail as someone drew out a set of needles and fluids. “Chanyeol! Chanyeol! Chanyeol please! Please! Help! Help!  _ Help! _ ”

But although Chanyeol howled for his lover, his beautiful, beautiful Baekhyun, he could not stop it when the figures pricked the small pianist’s arm and drew a thick sample of blood, all the while as Baekhyun protested and tried to arch up and away from them. Chanyeol’s blood boiled when he watched them fondle his body and examine his skin, his teeth, his fingernails, his hair. He couldn’t help but scream Baekhyun’s name as a long needle was pushed into his neck vein and an ominous, yellow liquid was flushed in. Baekhyun squirmed and they finally released him as he twitched and curled into a ball at their feet, crying quietly. The bastards collected drops of Baekhyun’s terrified tears and samples of the perspiration he sweat in fear. Within seconds the little man’s figure stilled and his voice dropped, Chanyeol’s name still lingering on his lips as he fell into unconsciousness. Chanyeol watched as the soldiers pressed some sort of scanner over the right side of Baekhyun’s chest, and when they pulled it away an array of small, ugly, black numbers was inked there.

He bit back even uglier curses from spilling out of his own mouth as the troop of soldier-like people dragged his precious Baekhyun’s limp body out of the room. 

_ Say something! _ he screamed at himself. 

But then there were the voices. Always there. Always haunting him.

_ Don’t fight them. Don’t protect your Baekhyun. Be quiet. You filthy thing. You might be spared your dignity now. Hush. Be quiet. Stupid, stupid Chanyeol… _

Tears prickled the man’s eyes, even as the two soldiers who had held him down stood and helped him sit up, clapping him on the back in a congratulatory manner, their tones of voices turning into something cheerful and reckless.

Chanyeol wanted to cry. He wanted to sob and scream and fight for his Baekhyun.

_ Don’t you dare stand. _

_ You cannot. _

But Chanyeol wanted to. He replied,

_ Give me back Baekhyun. _

_ Please. I love him. _

His legs twitched, itching to get up and run after his love.

_ You stay down, filthy dog. _

_ We’ll clean you. Don’t worry. That mutt Baekhyun is out of your life now. You won’t ever have to touch him again. _

Chanyeol’s jaw clenched. Where were the tears? Desperation and despair had already suffocated him to the point of fainting—where were his tears? He wanted to cry! He wanted to release this fatally painful ache within him.

Wu Yifan strode up to the dazed, conflicted Chanyeol with a beaming, sunny grin plastered on his face. Chanyeol, shivering, cold, and sickly, only glanced up at him, squinting at the bright backlights. How could Wu Yifan smile at a time like this? He knew very well that the man had frequent affairs with Baekhyun in the past—Chanyeol had spied on him for a time. Bitterly. How could Wu Yifan be  _ happy _ ?

Chanyeol’s chest was pinched and his heart ached with all sorts of emotions: regret, remorse, fury, fear, guilt, passion, love, longing, submission, confliction, resentment, anguish.

Of all the things he expected to come from Wu Yifan, a deep 90-degree bow was not one of them. Neither the curt nod or the cheeky, excited smile, followed by these words:

“Welcome back to the year 2139, Park Chanyeol. I must express my sincerest gratitude for your service. You have successfully helped us capture the last living human being on the planet.”

 

~

 

Chanyeol just couldn’t grasp it. It was like the tufted seed of a dandelion drifting through the sky just beyond his touch, getting yanked out of his reach by the swooping breeze every time he got close.

“You’re a cyborg.”

Yifan was pacing in front of him thoughtfully. He paused. “Sorry, that wasn’t the correct terminology. You’re a  _ Pars-Hominum Diànzǐ rén _ . It’s a Latin-Chinese phrase for Part-Human Mechanical Man.”

Chanyeol was hardly listening. He was sitting in one of two chairs in a small, gray, unmarked room that seemed less hostile than the white room, yet was colder and it felt more dangerous to be in here. He didn’t like it.

“Put simply, you’re one-third human, one-third machine, and one-third alien. It does vary based on the person—you’re a little more than one third human. The difference is the same though.” Yifan shrugged and crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. “Are you comfortable, Sir Park?”

Since when had Chanyeol upgraded from Mister Park to Sir Park? Was it that Wu Yifan held him in some sort of respect? That couldn’t be. Wu Yifan was not that kind of person. Chanyeol was in fact very uncomfortable—they’d dressed him in some sort of flat, crisp white pajamas and he was now facing Yifan one-on-one regarding a topic that Chanyeol would have done anything to avoid.

But he mumbled a soft “Y-Yes” to satisfy the other man before the latter went on.

“Twenty-four years ago—two years before you were born—a meteorite struck Earth. It had traveled to us from somewhere around Jupiter. It was argued that the meteor was in fact a piece broken off of Jupiter’s moon, Titan. You won’t remember this, but about forty-two years ago life was discovered on the moon by our probes. This life-laden rock slammed into Earth and wiped much of the population. But by the time in history the meteor hit, the humans’ technology had surpassed their own abilities. The infamous Civil World War was already full underway. Robots versus humans. 

“Robots were already predicted to win. It was inevitable. But the meteor altered many courses of the war: the incredible mass of energy fried most of Earth’s satellites and created a mass of electrical storms that cleared most of the robots off of the surface of the Earth. Similar things happened to the humans—but there’s this incredible instinct to survive that has existed in homo sapiens since the beginning of their time. Humans survived in the end. 

“The meteor, however, scattered all sorts of extraterrestrial life across the globe. Life forms from Jupiter’s moon became infested in daily human life. The majority of humans—such as your mother—became so implanted with alien organisms that their entire DNA structure changed. They became part alien. She and your father—a full human—created you: one-third alien, two-thirds human. But by the time you were born there was a massive resurgence of technology—in order to save their children from being torn apart by robots parents had their children mechanized: turned into cyborgs. Robots wouldn’t kill one of their own, however slight the resemblance. Once these new cyborg-alien-humans had mechanic and technologic pieces within them, they could be programmed to the government’s liking. The process of turning children into cyborgs is now an unavoidable part of everyone’s life, and can be forcibly done by those in control of our society. 

“The plight of alien genes in Earth’s populations have increased and stagnated, though. There was a mass push by the higher-ups, who are all more like four-fifths machine, to eradicate all remaining full humans on the planet. That was six years ago when this human search and extermination center was founded. There weren’t many humans left, but they weren’t easy to find either. We made it, though” he sounded proud. Proud of having killed. “We found every last one of them…” Yifan’s eyes traced over to Chanyeol. “Or so we thought.”

Chanyeol looked up, tired. “Huh?”

Yifan glanced at his watch. “Mr. Byun Baekhyun should be coming out of his hypnotherapy soon. Good.”

He pushed himself off of the wall and approached Chanyeol, pulling out what looked like a small, slim microchip from his sleeve. The man displayed it for the other to see. “This is your memory, Park Chanyeol. Once I insert this into your Primary Function Apparatus Core all recollection of your real life and the real Byun Baekhyun will be restored.”

_ The real Byun Baekhyun? _

Chanyeol shuttered and shook his head. “N-No. I don’t think I-I-I’m ready.”

“You’ll be done with that stutter of yours, Sir Park. That was merely an effect of speech to add onto your disguise.”

_ Disguise? _

“Now if you will, please lift up your shirt.”

Chanyeol looked at Yifan skeptically. “W-Why?”

Yifan sighed and crouched in front of Chanyeol, lifting the fabric for him anyway. What was there just beneath his belly button, glowing and humming with power, took Chanyeol’s breath away. It was…well…machine. A smallish, glowing port of shiny metal was just sort of there, among his flesh. Tensing, Chanyeol held his breath as Yifan gently pushed the chip into his mechanical body. There was a soft, anticlimactic  _ click _ , and all the memories came rushing back. He gasped and suddenly felt tipsy, the whole room distorting around him as his heart raced in excitement.

His home: a lower-class apartment in the working-class district of a post-apocalyptic Seoul City between the outskirts and the slums.

His job: a buyer, seller, and renovator of scrap metals brought to him by those who dared scour the wastelands for abandoned metals.

His parents: a flash of his mother’s face during Christmas dinner four years ago. The last time Chanyeol saw her. His father’s funeral; the man killed by the Human Search and Extermination Corps when Chanyeol was sixteen.

Kim Jongin: his best friend, partner, and cohort in the streets and in business.

Byun Baekhyun: his lover. Their first time meeting: in the subway a portrait painter looking for money on the streets had stopped the smaller male, complimenting his looks. The artist told the man that he would paint his face for free, enchanted by his features, but Baekhyun had declined and told him that he would only be painted if he could pay the artist for his services, and didn’t need a picture of himself anyway. The painter had begged the small male to allow him to paint him, at least so the artist could keep the boy’s portrait for himself. Baekhyun explained that he didn’t want the artist to waste his precious, rare paint supplies on him, and somewhat reprimanded the painter, telling him that he wasn’t going to flirt and he wasn’t in need of a relationship.

And then Chanyeol had stepped in, paid the artist, and watched as that stranger boy modeled for the painter patiently and picturesquely. In the end the artist, grinning with a slight blush, kept the portrait of Baekhyun and Chanyeol, in the end, got Baekhyun’s number.

Their first date: a stroll down the single shopping district in Seoul where they pretended to shop and buy things for each other when in fact they were both broke. They ended up walking through the trash bins behind a dilapidated music store where a standup piano had been left outside to rot. Baekhyun had sat down and played. That was when Chanyeol knew he was in love.

Their first kiss: a shockingly exceptional clear, starry midnight in Jongin’s rooftop garden, Baekhyun’s arms thrown around Chanyeol’s neck, and Chanyeol’s arms thrown around him.

Their first time: at Baekhyun’s grandmother’s house outside of Seoul. The old woman had gone to a weekly bingo night and in the hours she was gone Chanyeol and Baekhyun made sweet love in the guest bedroom.

Their first quarrel: Baekhyun liked pesto on his sandwiches. Chanyeol did not.

And every memory in between slammed into Chanyeol with an extreme emotional force. His worst memory: having to check Baekhyun into a poverty-level hospital on accounts of severe anorexia. His best memory: Baekhyun and him tickle-fighting the morning after one particularly sensual night. His confusion, his anger, his happiness. The pitter of rain falling on their tin roof and the ethereal sound of Baekhyun giggling. The robot apocalypse, the meteor strike devastations, the military influence on daily lives, the unsafeness of the world. Having to always look over one’s shoulder, always being challenged on accordance of one’s species. The fighting. The poverty. The wastelands. Baekhyun.

Chanyeol had been sure,  _ so sure _ that the life that had been programmed into him courtesy of the Human Search and Extermination Corps was his real one. It felt real. The details were miniscule and on point for this sick experiment… 

But he knew. He knew that these memories were not fabricated.

These memories were real.

There was a heavy knock on the door and Yifan grinned with delight. “Ah, it looks like Mister Byun is here.”

The man somewhat frolicked over to the door and allowed it to slide open and Baekhyun’s figure to be marched inside by an escorting soldier. The memories seared behind Chanyeol’s vision—he and Baekhyun had a history, a real one. But as Baekhyun was pushed inside and into the chair, the cuffs around his hands magnetized to the legs of the chair rendering him immobile, Chanyeol knew they’d been doing things to him. He sported fresh cuts and bruises, and his eyes were far too dilated and vacant. Unlike the cyborg, Baekhyun donned a skin-tight suit stained with blood—a prisoner jumpsuit, Chanyeol recalled.

“Baekhyun…” he whispered, eyes to the side where his lover sat.

It took a second, but the human fidgeted and eventually looked up, his teary eyes meeting Chanyeol’s with terror, and love, sweet love too. 

“Chanyeol,” he whimpered.

Yifan cleared his throat, standing in front of them both. “How are you feeling, Baekhyun?” he asked mockingly. “I’m sure you’re still bearing the after effects of your hypnosis. You’ll be feeling a little weary.” His lip curled in disgust. “I figured I owed you an explanation for what we did to you both, for what Chanyeol did for us.”

Baekhyun and Chanyeol exchanged an unhappy glance.

Yifan’s expression changed to that of a sleek, nasty grin. “You two are lovers. You share Chanyeol’s slum apartment. Chanyeol works with metal. You work at a vintage electronics shop.” He leaned down directly in front of Baekhyun’s face, their noses inches apart. “You are one hundred percent human. Your parents were killed by the HSEC six years ago. They were weak. Your grandmother was killed last month. She was weak. You have been living in hiding, and Chanyeol has been hiding you.” He cocked his head menacingly. “Do you remember this?”

“Yes.” Baekhyun’s voice was ragged and frightened, but sure. Chanyeol gulped. Yifan straightened.

“We’ve been on the hunt for what we believe to be the last human on Earth. We knew you existed. There were traces of you everywhere, but we couldn’t be sure it was you. There was no way to prove it to be true because by law we could not touch you until after we confirmed that you were human. It was either you, Byun Baekhyun, or Kim Jongdae.”

At this, Baekhyun’s stomach visibly clenched and his head dipped lower. Yifan waved a careless hand, “We were positive that it was you, but we eliminated Kim just in case.”

Baekhyun’s knees and thighs gripped together.  _ Jongdae _ …

“What we set up was an experiment to test your brain. This you do not remember—as soon as we arrested you and Sir Park, we replaced Chanyeol’s memory with a fabricated one, and performed a hypnotic test on you, Baekhyun.”

The way he said Baekhyun’s name was as if it was a wad of acid in his mouth, and Baekhyun flinched away.

“That was the first; to see if you could be hypnotized and made to believe that one thing was not true and another was. Some cyborgs can and some cyborgs can’t be hypnotized, so that was merely stage one. We recreated a fake reality that existed about a hundred and twenty-four years ago, around the year 2015. It was immensely difficult to find antiques and relics that we could reference, but we built a gym and lab that provided the space for you to move around in your own realities.” He glanced at Chanyeol, then turned away and began pacing. “The apartment space, too. Quite like a fish tank. We programmed Sir Park to act a certain way, say certain things, and give you just the right mental tests so that we could evaluate every millimeter of your reaction. Everything was recorded and measured. Your habits, your speech patterns, your sensory. You two may have been in love in this world, but in that one you were merely strangers courtesy of our intentional reality distortion. Chanyeol was a completely different person. I won’t go over every detail, but the biggest test was the reason for the title of this experiment.” He halted in his step, most likely for effect, and said with pristine diction, “Project Stockhom.”

“Cyborgs can’t be influenced by severe trauma,” Chanyeol whispered in realization. “The mechanical part of them denies it.”

Yifan nodded, stepping up beside Baekhyun and leering down at him intimidatingly. He reached out and touched the human’s hair, continuing with a rosy hue in his voice. “The other major experiment was to evaluate his fertility and reproductive genes.”

Baekhyun flinched and Chanyeol looked up at Yifan, confused and feeling suddenly protective.

“For reasons we don’t know, the alien gene in  _ Pars-Hominum _ allows some males to become maternally fertile—”

“Some men can give birth,” Chanyeol said through gritted teeth. It was still a bizarre phenomenon; people still had difficulty understanding it. 

“Because of Baekhyun’s physical make up, we figured that he would retain this gene if he had one…” He stroked the human’s cheek. “So you two had sex. A lot. We realized that the fault could be in Chanyeol’s sperm, though. That was something we didn’t check beforehand, and we decided that someone else was needed to test this. So—”

“So you had sex with him in a distorted reality,” Chanyeol snarled. Baekhyun shuddered and shrunk in his chair, feeling utterly violated. Chanyeol only wanted to take him into his arms and whisper to his ear that everything was going to be okay.

It was clearly not going to be.

Yifan shrugged. “I did. I have to admit that fucking a human is much nicer.” He bent down and grinned into Baekhyun’s cheek, nuzzling him and watching the human’s reaction. Baekhyun held his breath and looked like he was going to cry. “You’re much softer than a cyborg, and much more sensual than an alien. I enjoyed it very much.” He then straightened and smirked as Baekhyun turned his head away, his lip quivering and his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “In the end it was apparent that Baekhyun had no such fertility gene within him. He’s just male.”

Yifan stepped around Baekhyun and continued pacing, addressing the human. “You passed as positive human for every single test we put you through. We were ecstatic—we had found the very last one, the very last human. The Americans fought us for you. They wanted the honors of having found and eliminated the last human and even bribed us with money in exchange for you. But it wouldn’t be. I made sure of that.”

He paused again, turning to look at Baekhyun. But there was something new in his gaze that Chanyeol picked up on, something perhaps impressed and even…sad? Yifan’s long jaw churned from side to side with thought.

“There  _ is _ something that we will have lost when you are gone, Baekhyun, other than incredible sex.”

_ When you are gone. _

“Your piano playing.”

At this Baekhyun finally looked up, tears streaking down his face. But there was now wonder in his eyes, curiosity. Piano? The piano was something he had pursued his entire life—he loved and enjoyed everything about it; the way it sounded, the way he could pour his emotions into his music, and the way it relieved him of his immense sorrows. Baekhyun never really had the chance to shine, though. Music was an expensive and often useless pursuit—there was also a stigma surrounding the idea of classical musicians. There had been a sort of uproar several years ago by a ridiculous anti-classical community of hooligans—a student orchestra was stoned coming out of their rehearsal one night, their instruments smashed and music burned. It was all over the press—piano was now commonly associated with negative things and was a taboo instrument. Baekhyun loved it nonetheless and played only as often as he could.

“ _ Pars-Hominum Diànzǐ rén  _ have only diluted emotions. Technology doesn’t feel, and our alien genes dumb down our senses and feelings. It was your incredible ability to play the piano that put the last nail in the coffin. No one non-human would be able to play like that, because when you play the piano you are feeling, emoting, and sensing. When you play you are happy or sad, excited or morose. We cannot experience complex emotions—but you can, and it makes you the best pianist in the world.”

_ The best pianist in the world. _

Baekhyun seemed to be choking on his breath, trying not to cry. His lips were bruising the more and more he bit them and pinched them together. He looked unraveled and distressed, and his eyes went back to Chanyeol for a moment. Wondering. Panicking. Pleading. Loving.

Yifan checked his watch. “By order of the Asian League of Modern Government in mandate 7982 of the Earth Species Supervision Section Byun Baekhyun is sentenced to death by firing squad at 6:10 this evening—”

Baekhyun’s sobs finally broke and he curled over, crying.

“—on account of his apparent being of full human descent—”

Chanyeol stood from his chair defiantly and screamed, “No!”

“—carried out by the Human Search and Extermination Corps, decreed by the authority of Major General Governor Wu Li Fan.”

Chanyeol shook his head, eyes boring holes into Yifan’s. “Please. Please don’t.”

Yifan jerked his chin with a sickly smirk. “I’ve had my fun with him. I’ll be out of a job after this—but that’s okay. I have a royalty stash of money. They sure do pay well for killing people.”

Chanyeol lashed forward and pushed the man against the wall, fists clenched around his jacket collar. He was fuming, trembling with anger. His voice shook with fury and it took every bit of his willpower not to rip out the Chinese’s throat.

“You can’t. You can’t do this. Show mercy. Please.”

“Careful, Park,” Yifan gritted. “You’re not too far from the firing squad yourself.”

Chanyeol knew what that meant. He had intentionally hid and harbored a human being: a crime punishable by death.

“Kill me then,” Chanyeol begged harshly, sounding desperate. “Let me die. The same bullets that go through his head should go through mine too.”

Yifan smiled. “Why would I ever allow a luxury such as that one?”

His words sliced through the Korean man’s heart and soul, shattering something personal and close: hope. Chanyeol stepped away, backpedaling until he stood protectively in front of his love. Tears had begun to flow freely and shamelessly. “If he is the last human then he cannot reproduce—he will die anyway in a hundred years! Let him live and die in time, it’s only fair. The result is the same!” Baekhyun’s weak cry tugged Chanyeol back into reality and he quickly kneeled and undid the cuffs from around the smaller’s purple wrists. Baekhyun immediately fell into his lap and buried his face in his chest, sobbing.

Yifan’s lip curled. “This isn’t about what is fair or moral. It’s about making a statement—Major General Governor Wu has plans. He means to wage a new war: cyborgs against non-cyborgs. This will rally the cyborg population. To see the last pure, beautiful, precious fucking human being die publicly by the power of the government will rouse them to my uncle’s call.”

Chanyeol guffawed and gave the Chinese an incredulous expression. “ _Another_ war? After the robots, the meteor, the battles people rage in every day life against each other—your uncle wants to start _another_ _war_?” His voice broke with despair. “There are so few people already—why would you want to do such a thing? _How_ could you?”

Yifan whirled around stomped his foot, pointing a finger at the pair on the floor. Baekhyun gasped and hid away from the cyborg’s deadly glare. “The world has already ended, Park Chanyeol! And this? This is hell. Living in this time is worse than death itself and nothing can remedy that.”

“That’s not true!” Chanyeol retorted. “This life is beautiful!”

Yifan laughed—it was sharp and gritty, evil and doubting. “Oh really? Tell me Park. Tell me what could possibly make this life beautiful?”

Chanyeol didn’t reply. His arms tightened around Baekhyun, who also stared at the Chinese man above them with tears in his eyes. His mind still swirled as if clogged, still blurring lines between fiction and reality. But as Baekhyun—the last human—gazed up at Wu Yifan his heart fell in his chest, attacked by his cage of ribs. There was something not quite sane in the Chinese man’s eyes. Baekhyun had noticed it in everyone: in the guards when they took off their masks, the hypnotist, the other prisoners that he briefly met in his cell, his interrogators, the doctors that poked and probed him. It was a terribly shocking wake up call: this is life. He had always been living it, but never before had the future seemed so bleak. Never before had hell been given a name: reality. Never before did Baekhyun feel such a desperate call to the unjustness of this world—not before experiencing the past. A hundred and thirty years ago the world did not look like this. People did not look at each other as if they were going to eat each others’ eyes out.

This. This was sad.

But yet there was Chanyeol. Chanyeol’s arms around him, tightening. Chanyeol’s warmth. Chanyeol’s heartbeat pounding softly against Baekhyun’s ear pressed to his chest. Chanyeol’s breaths fanning over his hair. Chanyeol’s love seeming into him through his pores—

Yifan hesitated, then scoffed and ran his hands through his formerly neat hair, enraged. “Oh  _ excuse me _ . Why don’t I just pull out my perfect little human being that will make everything better and make my life perfect? In case you hadn’t noticed, Chanyeol, you’re holding the last little fucker right there!”

“You can still change this,” Chanyeol whispered.

“Human got themselves into this mess from the very beginning; it was their fault for not realizing that they were changing the environment, for overestimating their power and literally giving the robots the gun to shoot them with! No, they couldn’t stop the meteor strike, but maybe if they hadn’t been so busy fighting they would’ve been able to do something to save everyone!”

“You can still stop this.”

“Silence!”

“You don’t know what you want, Yifan,” said Chanyeol with realization. “I can see it in you. Just wait this out. Just consider your options. This can all stop.”

Despite the horror of the situation they were in, Chanyeol naturally was incredibly aware of Baekhyun in his arms. How warm the smaller’s body was, the degree of his shivering, his heart rate, the way Chanyeol just loved having him right there…

Yifan was shaking his head. “It’s all set. Baekhyun will die today—tomorrow, a revolution will be born.”

“No…please…please…”

Just as Yifan opened the door and Chanyeol was about to break down, Baekhyun’s small, boyish voice cut through the room and slammed into the Chinese with a superhuman amount of conviction and finality.

“You’re a monster.”

Yifan stood still for only a moment, gulped, and stepped out of the room.

 

~

 

Baekhyun and Chanyeol were informed soon after that for the three hours until the execution they were allowed to be together uninterrupted. As soon as the door closed the two lovers broke down and wallowed in each other’s arms.

“I’m sorry,” cried Chanyeol, holding Baekhyun’s face in front of his. The smaller’s cheeks were blotchy and parts of his scalp were matted with blood, but his eyes gleamed with life—knowing that after tonight Chanyeol would never see that ever again…he couldn’t take it. Breathing was impossible. Crying hurt—his tears had finally come. “I didn’t know what I was doing in that experiment…I’m sorry I tied you up…I’m sorry I scared you…god, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m—”

“Shh,” Baekhyun hushed, pretending as if his own tears were not there. “It’s not your fault.” He leaned forward on his knees and reversed his and Chanyeol’s positions, pulling Chanyeol’s head into his lap while the other cried and cried and cried. Chanyeol nudged his head into Baekhyun’s stomach as the latter combed the taller’s hair with his cold fingers. Cold as if his corpse was already bloodless. “Shh…shhh…”

Baekhyun bit his lip, grateful that Chanyeol could not see him now. His chest ached. His heart beat heavily within him and he was so hyperaware of himself now—the way his legs looked folded beneath him, the elegance of his fingers, the way his bangs looked at the fringe of his vision, the way his breaths sounded when he was trying not to cry. There was an odd sort of feeling within him knowing that…that in three hours…he…his heart…it wouldn’t be beating. His lungs…wouldn’t be purring inside him. He wouldn’t have to think about the way the breeze stung his eyes dry on a cold winter day walking into the wind. His stomach would no longer clench and bend with every draw of laughter. His skin would no longer recognize Chanyeol’s soft, affectionate touch. He wouldn’t have to worry about kissing Chanyeol with chapped lips. His ears would know no music. His throat would cease to express and form words…he wouldn’t get the chance to finally sing for Chanyeol…on their wedding day. His lips would forget how to smile— _ his _ smile. A rectangular smile that creased his eyes when he really meant it. He wouldn’t ever again experience the burn in his cheeks when he’s been smiling for too long. The little things about him would disappear and fade into nothingness because of their supposed insignificance: the way he double-laced his shoes because the laces were too long. His fear of bugs. The way he always put exactly twelve mini marshmallows in his hot chocolate. The way he hid his toothbrush under the bathroom towels because Chanyeol liked to use it even though he kind of thought that was gross. The way he always knew it when Chanyeol was baking cookies because he always recognized the sound of the spoon hitting the bowl as his lover stirred the batter. The collection of bird feathers he had hidden inside his grandmother’s violin case back home from when he was a little boy. The way his belly unnaturally blushed red after he ran a lot. His impatience for shaving. All his little memories and special things that only knew…they would all be gone. He would know no beauties or sorrows after tonight.

“Why is the world so distraught?” Chanyeol wept. He cried so rarely that the sound of his unhappiness struck Baekhyun like a bullet. “Why? Why? Why can’t things just be beautiful? Why why  _ why why why _ ?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Baekhyun. He tasted his tears as they dripped past his lips and onto his tongue.

“I don’t want you to go!” cried Chanyeol, the tall man grasping onto Baekhyun’s hand as he curled around the smaller’s knees. “I don’t want you to leave! I can’t be alone like this! I love you! I love you Baekhyun I love you!”

“Ch-Chanyeol—” Baekhyun’s throat was swollen shut, his chest burning with so much agony that he couldn’t breathe. His face contorted into an anguished grimace and the tears dribbled from his chin onto Chanyeol’s face below him. He made no sound.

Chanyeol bawled in torment, his eyes squeezed shut painfully. Baekhyun’s hand had begun to go numb in the taller’s grasp. “I love you! I lo-love you!” He was having a difficult time speaking through his sobs. He pulled Baekhyun’s hand to his lips and he bit it lightly—trying to avoid screaming. He kissed Baekhyun’s fingers, trembling violently. “I never knew that love could be felt so passionately. I never knew such love until I saw you that day in the subway, posing so beautifully for that painter. I never knew I could be brought to my knees by someone’s smile. I have never loved like I have loved you, Byun Baekhyun. I never will again. I love you. I love you. I  _ love you _ .”

Baekhyun shook with unheard screams and sobs. “I l-l-l-love y-you too, Ch-Chanyeol. My Channie…” The human leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. Chanyeol’s closeness had never felt so enormous now. Their tears swirled together and their crying created the most torturous song ever heard. “I love you!”

Neither of them was quite sure how long they stayed like that, confessing their undying love thousands of times over. Passionate, tearful kisses followed. They both undressed and cuddled together, searching desperately for skinship. They talked, but not much—what to say when there are less than three hours left to live together? How does one choose what is important and what is not to fill the aching silence? They tried to laugh and act as if they’d only just woken up in the morning in their tiny, shared bed, cocooned in bedcovers hiding under the sheets as they told each other the last night’s dreams. The setting wasn’t quite right, but they still shared their dreams. 

Baekhyun told of a world of the past, of green trees and blue skies and liberation, of a world full of music and subway portrait painters. A world free of monsters.

Chanyeol told of a dream wherein he and Baekhyun laid in bed all day, cuddling and laughing and loving and touching and talking and playing and kissing. A day where Chanyeol could lay there and stare at Baekhyun’s smile and put up with the smaller’s teasing, soaking up his love and his light. It was more of a memory and less of a dream.

Chanyeol watched Baekhyun’s every flutter of his eyelashes—he realized the true difference between the Baekhyun in the false, hundred-year-old reality versus the one sitting here with him: Chanyeol harbored memories of a shy, timid, honest, and thoroughly genuine Baekhyun in his heart. The Baekhyun from 2015…he was too outgoing, too bold. In order to conduct the experiment Chanyeol had to have had no familiarity at all with the human’s personality. But this boy right here…Chanyeol was so used to him. Baekhyun was the pages within his bookbinding. He recognized and understood every one of shy Baekhyun’s wonders. Because Baekhyun spoke so little the sound of his laughter had always been a saving grace for Chanyeol—his laughter was always boisterous and loud. Chanyeol took a moment to appreciate all the time they had spent together and the intense intimacy they’d achieved—being able to speak with someone without saying any words at all was Chanyeol’s greatest gift in life…after Baekhyun himself, of course. Baekhyun had introduced him to, and inflicted upon him, so many unknown and unfelt emotions. Chanyeol’s life had gone from gray to color—the color of Baekhyun’s peach skin tone. Chanyeol realized with a hint of pride that he was the only cyborg that would ever experience what it felt like to be truly human. He nuzzled again endlessly into Baekhyun, never wanting to give up this scent.

And there was one other thing. One other small conversation they shared that would ring in Chanyeol’s mind for eternity.

When the time came neither of them were ready. They never would be. They screamed and brawled and fought for just  _ one more kiss _ . Just  _ one more touch _ . Just  _ one more second _ .

After Baekhyun had been hauled away Chanyeol was on his knees, bent over and unable to move. He was alone.

Yet the voices still lingered. They hissed in his ears wretchedly.

_ Aren’t you a good boy, Chanyeol? Thank you, little cyborg. Baekhyun is gone now. Congratulations.  _

Yifan stood above him, arms crossed, head tilted curiously. Maybe he read Chanyeol’s mind, maybe he just knew.

“You want to know about those voices?” Chanyeol didn’t move. Yifan went on. “There’s someone in your mind right now—someone on our staff is at a console giving you all sorts of messages in your head. I guess no one told him that the experiment was over. I hope he hasn’t been tormenting you too much.”

Chanyeol shivered.

_ Congratulations Chanyeol. You’re a real killer. _

 

~

 

But it wasn’t quite over yet. Baekhyun wasn’t quite gone yet.

Chanyeol still got to see him on his knees on a platform outside the HSEC building, lines of armed soldiers at his sides. Hundreds of thousands of people crammed the streets and rooftops for miles and dozens upon dozens of radio, television, and newspaper crews were stuffed at the front. People had made up posters of Baekhyun celebrating his death day and had them posted down every street. The sidewalks and walls were plastered with one pretty picture of Baekhyun—they were mockingly portraying him as a hero, boasting  _ The Final Human _ and  _ The Greatest Moment In History _ and  _ The Last Death  _ as if they were advertising an epic movie. It made Chanyeol sick. At the top of each poster they all got dubbed a theme title:  _ Greater Than This _ . A clear statement that whatever was going on in the world was greater than this person’s life and death—that this death was a representation of what was to come. In essence, that this was all a waste.

Yifan had Chanyeol dressed in a uniform similar to his own, and Chanyeol didn’t know why, but they had dolled Baekhyun up too with makeup and flowery, pristine clothing. He was absolutely stunning: his face glistening with fresh beauty. Chanyeol had never seen his love in such fancy, skimpy clothing. That also made him sick—sharing this unusual and unauthentic image of Baekhyun with the world. It was probably just all for the photo ops.

People cheered and howled—the noise was deafening and drowning. Chanyeol couldn’t hear his thoughts—not even the screaming voices in his head. It was a beautiful, golden sunset image, but the close up of the city told different stories. Blood stains on the sidewalks. Trash. Scraps of robots and bodies all over. All these multitudes of people had come together for this one reason; if they could not see the execution, people came to hear in person the shot that ended the human race.

It felt like a dream as Yifan pressed a heavy black pistol into Chanyeol’s palm with a horrific smirk marring his face. “For you,” said Yifan. “The job is yours.”

Yifan marched Chanyeol out onto the platform—that long, tedious, gruesome walk through the throngs and onto the stilted stage among savage shouts of approval…along with a scarce few of people screaming in protest. Chanyeol barely heard them. His heart raced with terror. Emotions had become so painful to experience that a deadly migraine pounded in the back of his skull and his body burned. The gun was heavy in his hand.

Yifan, beaming, nudged Chanyeol up the steps as the latter’s feet dragged soullessly, his expression vacant. But nonetheless as Yifan placed him several yards away from the kneeling Baekhyun and went off to address the crowds to make a speech, Chanyeol did not avoid Baekhyun’s eyes. He had no reason to. For these last few seconds—they would be the last he’d ever see them alive.

Yifan’s voice was a dull hum behind him. The Chinese had figured that forcing Chanyeol to take the first shot to killing his lover would destroy him—and it would. Chanyeol would become a celebrity for killing the love of his life after this.

But it didn’t hurt like Chanyeol thought it would. Gazing into Baekhyun’s gleaming eyes from a distance, they watched each other with an intense fondness and understanding. Baekhyun seemed worn out from where Chanyeol stood, his love’s face glowing golden under the fading hue of the sunset.

Chanyeol recalled their conversation earlier, the one Baekhyun had insisted upon in their last few hours together.

“Chanyeol,” he had said. “I want you to be the one to do it. If Yifan doesn’t offer the job to you, ask for it.”

“I don’t understand,” Chanyeol had muttered, disliking where the subject was going.

“I want you to be the one to kill me, Chanyeol.” Chanyeol immediately opened his mouth in protest but Baekhyun’s slender finger on his lips halted him. “I do not want to die by the hands of someone who hates. I will already be surrounded by people that hate me—I cannot be unhappy if my last moment ever is shared with the one I love. Dying by your hand would not be painful. I would be overjoyed if my last breath belonged to you.”

Chanyeol had been shaking his head, eyes tearing up again. “I won’t. I can’t. I wouldn’t. I refuse. Baekhyun…no. No…your last breath belongs to  _ you _ . We…we’ll figure this out…we’ll fix this…”

But Baekhyun’s serious eyes pinned Chanyeol’s words to the back of his throat.

“We both know how this day is going to end,” Baekhyun stated, his voice unshaking, but his eyes telling of sadness. “I want you to be the one, Chanyeol. I cannot hate as long as it is you. I want you to be the one to free me. I need your face to be last I see, your actions the last that ever inflict upon my life. It has to be you, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol had wanted to scream, shout, protest, and whisk them both back to the day at the train station when they’d first met. Chanyeol would do a better job hiding Baekhyun—they would avoid this. They would.

Baekhyun’s eyes had pooled with certain darkness, a fear that Chanyeol would not fulfill this wish, that Chanyeol would back out and refuse. Chanyeol didn’t deny him much of anything, but Baekhyun also knew that ending the life of the one he loved intentionally was something that would pain Chanyeol forever. It was a simple nor easy request. But it had to be asked.

It had to be Chanyeol.

But the taller had never responded.

Now, standing in front of Baekhyun, Chanyeol felt his heart shattering thinking that Baekhyun probably spent the last half hour of his life wondering if he would die in the name of love…or in the name of hatred. He still wasn’t sure he could do it. He…he couldn’t…

But gazing at Baekhyun and those starry, starry eyes, he realized it had to be done. He would not deny Baekhyun this…this last wish.

As Yifan rambled on and roused the crowd around them, the rest of the firing squad lining up behind Chanyeol, it was as if the two lovers had their own little pocket of time. Between them on the platform their loving gazes conversed and reminisced and spoke and sang together. This would be the moment that lasted throughout history. This would be the love’s last moment of truth.

Yifan stepped behind him and patted him on the shoulder, whispering in his ear, “The first shot is yours, buddy.” Then he strode away to watch the show.

The crowd had gone completely silent. Dead silent. For the thousands of people there, there wasn’t a single cough, sneeze, sigh, dog bark, or baby’s cry. Pure silence.

But Chanyeol hadn’t noticed, because the voices in his mind screamed and wailed just as loudly as all those pseudo-humans had been doing a moment ago. The screams still continued, still filled his head with pain.

Chanyeol lifted the gun with a single hand.

“You had better have a good shot,” Baekhyun had said earlier. “I’d like it to be quick.”

He stared at his lover, his human, his Baekhyun. For a single moment he considered turning the gun on himself and pulling the trigger. But that wouldn’t do. Not for Baekhyun. He would never do that to Baekhyun.

He stared. Baekhyun stared. The crowd stared. Baekhyun’s lips turned up weakly, but genuinely. His eyes creased at the corners and his face lifted.

_ I love you. _

Chanyeol recalled the sound of Baekhyun’s laugh. Chanyeol, tears streaming down his paled face, the sun dipping behind the horizon, managed a smile for his Baekhyun. His face was the last Baekhyun would see. He ought to make it a good one.

_ I love you too. _

The shot that echoed throughout the city would echo in the traces of eternity.

And the voices inside his head went silent.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> (To the prompter: I WAS SUPPOSED TO KEEP THIS LIGHT BUT THIS IS REALLY DARK AND SAD AND DEPRESSING I’M SO SORRY This probably would have been a completely different story, but you requested some sort of unexpected twist. I spent hours thinking about it but Idk this is what came to mind I’m dying a little hope that was okay)
> 
> (Also to the prompter: I feel like this was really confusing. Sorry heh this only sorta-kinda follows the prompt BUT TOO LATE NOW HEH Thank you!)
> 
>  
> 
> To everyone else: If you’ve made it this far then I thank you sincerely. This is pretty poorly written but I’ll be glad if some made it through to the end \^o^/
> 
> Thanks!


End file.
